The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart
by njeha
Summary: King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm lives a bitter and lonely existence; however all that changes when one night his subconscious dreams up a little girl by the name of Electra Amycate Potter. Finally, Thranduil feels alive again as he follows Electra in her life and adventures through his dreams. Is there a reason for this? Will Electra find herself in Middle Earth? FEM!Potter.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 1:**

King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, son of Oropher was pacing around his throne room, thinking for the millionth time ever since his beloved wife Lainathiel departed to the Valinor after being weak from the war between Elves and the forces of Angmar at Mount Gundabad, leaving him to tend over their young son by his lonesome, Prince Legolas who was no older than fifty years of age, practically still a newborn babe.

Whenever he would set his crystal blue eyes upon his son's, he felt a stab of pain in his heart. For staring right back at him, were the eyes he had inherited from his meleth Lainathiel.

Legolas inherited his silver blonde hair, nose and lips, but he gained Lainathiel's expressive light grey eyes and soft features which were a far cry from Thranduil's angular, sharp and prominent features.

Thranduil had lived in Arda and was King for many millennia, and he was utterly exhausted. Life had no meaning for him anymore, and he felt that his existence was merely that, just the will to exist. He continued existing for his meleth, he would never forget the last promise he had made to her before she sailed away to the Valinor, promising to raise their son and look after him till the end of time.

A lot has changed in Arda since the First Age, which was when his birth took place, and Thranduil found himself recalling how he wronged the dwarves the last time he encountered them, which was during the third age, T.A 2770 when the dragon Smaug had attacked Erebor, the Lonely Mountain and the thriving town of Dale.

Thranduil knew that Lainathiel would have been greatly disappointed in him for leaving their allies, the dwarves of Erebor, to fend for themselves, not even giving them aid. But Thranduil put all the blame on King Thror, who he had warned that his greed would incur the dragon's wrath, displaying all the gold was a calling for the dragon to descend on them, bringing death upon the Lonely Mountain.

A part of him was terrified of facing another dragon as he had faced one of the great serpents of the North, disfiguring half of his face with severe burns and a left blind eye, which he managed to cover up with a glamour that he never took off.

Thranduil didn't want to bring the wrath of Smaug onto his army, and most especially his son, Legolas, after he had promised Lainathiel that he would always keep him safe, and so, as the King of the Woodland Realm, he made the decision to allow the dwarves led by King Thror who was recovering from Gold Sickness to fend for themselves.

It was only after the dwarves had passed his realm, and he had calmed down from his fear of there being a dragon nearby that Thranduil felt guilt and terribly sickened with himself by what he had done. He could hear his meleth yelling in his ear from the Valinor that he could have at least given the dwarves supplies and a place to rest and heal. But it was too late and they were already far gone by the time he came upon the realization that he had wronged them.

Thus, starting the feud between the Elves and the Dwarves that would last a very long time.

It has been 150 years since Smaug attacked Erebor and Dale, throwing the dwarves and men out of their home, and Thranduil found himself once again the victim of such agonizing guilt and depressing thoughts of his late wife Lainathiel and how he had failed her with Legolas as he was such a cold father to him, always distant.

Thranduil lost count of how many times he went to his chambers and had many a restless nights, him waking up in the middle of the night because his thoughts and plagues guilt would not leave him alone, even in his subconscious, and so Thranduil lost many a days without rest, but as it had been two days since Thranduil laid his body to rest, he had no choice but to enter his chambers and hope as he always hoped since Lainathiel sailed away, that he would have a peaceful sleep.

That night, Thranduil found himself experiencing quite an odd dream; he found himself in the interior of what looked to be a cottage.

How _odd_.

Looking around at his surroundings, he saw plenty items that looked to be not of Arda, and as he went to pick up a box with what looked to be soft buttons impaled onto it, he found his hand passing through it, as though he were a spirit.

What a peculiar dream.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of childish giggles of glee, effectively snapping his attention away from his disturbing thoughts. Walking along a corridor that had … were those portraits moving?

He found himself entering a scene of a man and a baby girl who looked to be a year old. The man had messy, raven hair, prominent cheekbones and hazel eyes that were hidden behind some kind of framed glass piece; what an odd item to wear. In his arms however, was a little girl with vivid red curls that were the color of rubies and huge doe-like eyes the color of emeralds.

The little girl was laughing and giggling, waving her chubby arms around while her father waved around a wooden stick in his hands, emitting colored bubbles from it.

Was this magic? He had never seen such an Istari in all of Arda; there were only five to his knowledge, the brown wizard, the grey wizard, the white wizard and two blue wizards.

He would have to have a world with Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and Mithrandir about this Istari; he didn't like communicating with Saruman the White, and so he decided that he would leave it to the three to waylay him about this disturbing discovery.

Unless of course, he was merely having a dream; a vivid one at that.

Hearing a voice to his right, he found himself facing a beautiful woman with red hair and green eyes the exact same coloring as the little girl. _So this must be her mother_ , he thought. The woman had soft, petite features and had a wooden stick in her hand as well, similar yet of different wood to her husband's.

Is this a family of Istari? Are they new to Arda, or is he just having an unorthodox dream?

They looked to be of the race of men, and not Istari sent by the Valar to Arda to help aid the free peoples of Middle Earth against the threat of Sauron.

"James, it's time for Electra's bedtime," the woman laughed. James? That is not a name commonly found in Arda; neither is Electra, although he knew the name to mean ' _the shining one_ ', Siladhiel in Sindarin.

"Come on Lily, its Halloween, give me some time with our daughter," the man – James laughed, mischief shone in his hazel eyes behind that framed item.

 _Halloween?_ Thranduil had never heard that word before. These people are not of Arda, and Thranduil found himself wondering what sort of eccentric dream his subconscious had dreamed up, but it was a great welcome to his usual nightmares.

"Halloween or not, she is only one, she won't remember it James," snapped Lily fondly, placing her hands on her hips.

Thranduil leaned against the wall as he watched the woman – Lily walk over to her daughter and carry her into his arms. He inhaled sharply when they walked past him, and Electra's emerald green eyes looked directly at his crystal blue ones, as though she could see him.

Thranduil immediately dismissed that thought, the two Istari's couldn't see him, and this was a dream after all.

Suddenly, with Thranduil's impeccable hearing, he heard the creak of the gate outside, and looking over at James he could tell he heard it as well, and he suddenly began yelling, " _Lily, take Electra and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

Thranduil felt the mood in the cottage deteriorate drastically as he witnessed the complete fear etched on the man's face; but it wasn't fear for him, no … it was fear for his family, for his wife and for his daughter. He heard Lily scream in fear from the landing above and Thranduil watched as a man completely covered in a black hooded cloak laugh at James, who was reaching out for his wooden stick that he used to emit colorful bubbles for his daughter just mere minutes ago.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Thranduil watched in shock as a jet of green light was produced from the stick in the hooded figure's hand, filling the hallway with a vivid green light, and the man – James fell onto the floor like a puppet whose strings were cut.

Thranduil stared at the man, James in horror.

 _He was dead!_

Thranduil has never heard of such magic that could kill with two words, he had never even seen life get snuffed before like it was too easy and with no blood or bodily harm. Who are these Istari's? What dark magic is this?!

He tore his eyes away from those lifeless hazel eyes that were filled with love, joy and mischief mere minutes ago, when he heard a terrified scream from the upper floor, and that was when he remembered that the man's wife and daughter were upstairs, barricading themselves from the other Istari.

He passed through the door where the woman and child were in before the hooded figure could reach them, only to watch Lily place Electra in a cot and speak to her in a voice filled with love and heartbreaking sadness, reminding him so much of his meleth, "Electra Amycate Potter, your mommy loves you, and your daddy loves you, oh sweetie you are so loved-"

The door blasted open with a mere flick of that wooden stick, and Thranduil felt a chill go down his spine as he watched the woman throw her arms wide in front of her daughter and facing the Istari, shielding her from sight as if hoping to protect her daughter with her body would be enough.

" _Not Electra, not Electra, please not Electra!"_

" _Stand aside, you silly girl … stand aside, now."_

The dark Istari's voice was cruel, lacking any warmth and turning his blood cold at the mere sound of it.

" _Not Electra, please no, take me, kill me instead –"_

" _This is my last warning –"_

" _Not Electra! Please … have mercy … have mercy. … Not Electra! Not Electra! Please – I'll do anything –"_

" _Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

Thranduil was shocked. The hooded figure wanted to kill … he wanted to kill a little girl, a baby no older than the age of one, why? How cruel! How despicable!

For the race of Elves and Dwarves, children were precious as there didn't seem to be many, and here this man was willing to murder a child … he was hunting her, killing her parents because they bravely stood in his way – to protect her.

The dark Istari seemed to have tired of arguing with her and as another flash of green light surrounded the room, the woman, Lily – was dead; her lifeless emerald green eyes staring at the ceiling.

Thranduil saw the dark Istari walk towards the child, and he felt bile rise in his throat … he was about to witness the murder of a child. What has his subconscious conjured? As if it weren't enough he had to dream about all the people he had failed, his kingdom, his wife and his son, now he had to dream of some random made-up family get murdered.

The little girl hadn't cried at all the whole time during the pleading and murdering of her mother; she tried standing, clutching the bars of the crib she had been placed in, and she looked up at the hooded figure with interest in her face.

Thranduil watched in horror as the dark Istari raised his wooden stick to the little girl's face, and she began to cry – she seemed to have noticed that the dark figure was not her mother or her father.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

" _NO!"_ yelled Thranduil. He leapt in front of the child at the same time the jet of green line hit her, but it merely passed through him and onto her forehead.

But something peculiar happened. Instead of falling down like a marionette the same way her father and mother did, the jet of green light rebounded back to the dark Istari, destroying him and tearing his body apart until nothing but two fogs of black smoke remained.

One of the entities was yelling agonizing screams as it fled out the destroyed room as rubble from the destroyed roof began littering the area, and the other entity of black smoke entered the little girl through her forehead, disappearing entirely from view.

Thranduil leapt out of his bed, immediately checking his surroundings to make sure he was in his chambers while breathing wildly, inhaling and exhaling air.

For the first time since Lainathiel sailed away, Thranduil hadn't awoken in the middle of the night, but instead at the start of a new day.

What dream was that? It felt so real that Thranduil was sure he would awaken in that destroyed cottage.

Who were those Istari? James and Lily; and the little girl who survived such an evil curse, Electra Amycate Potter.

Thranduil needed to send word to Mithrandir, Galadriel and Elrond at once, for he was sure that it was no ordinary dream his subconscious merely cooked up.

 **A/N:** **What do you think? This is a new fanfiction I have decided on, and I have many plans for it.**

 **If I made any mistakes with the date, let me know because it is very confusing for me and I spent ages on Google so I could get it right.**

 **Let me know what you think, new chapter will be out by tomorrow.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 2:**

Thranduil sat on his throne pondering last night's dream.

Ever since his wife sailed away he had been trapped in his nightmares which were his reality.

Whether it be his wife's tortured soul after the battle, her heart-shattering words when she informed him that she was leaving him to sail to the Valinor to be reunited with her parents and brother, watching his wife sail away, and leaving him alone to raise their son at an extremely young age when he needed a mother and not the bitter and cold shell he ended up becoming with the loss of his meleth.

Or whether it be the dreams of when he relived fighting the great serpent of the North, the horrible sensation of being burned alive, disfiguring his face and leaving him half-blind, remembering the excruciating pain over and over again, pain that not even a glamour could hide and the long torturous recovery of his left side.

His dreams would rotate over to the dwarves, showing his greatest mistake when he left his allies with no aid, allowing them to pass over his realm with not even a second glance; the images of the dwarves angry and shattered looks when he left them to rot and survive on their own due to his fear of facing dragon fire.

But the most vivid and recurring dream was of his son, Legolas. Legolas who grew up without a mother's love, left with a father's bitter love that seemed forced. A father who had a Kingdom to run and so had to keep the persona of the sever King he was until it became more than just a mask, more than just a façade.

Thranduil loved his son, Legolas was his everything, he was his heart, his pride and his joy, but he couldn't show it, or perhaps he didn't know how to, for every time he set his gaze upon his only son, he would be reminded of Lainathiel. Legolas was a carbon copy of Thranduil, that much was obvious, except for the eyes and the soft features he had inherited, molding Thranduil's sharp features he passed on to Legolas into the soft and kind face of his mother, his Lainathiel.

And that in itself hurt Thranduil whenever he looked upon his only son, and so he avoided him as much as possible once he became older and of age, only corresponding with him often when it came to the Woodland Realm. They no more spoke of personal matters, and Thranduil barely relayed much about Lainathiel to him – a boy who just wanted to know the soft and kind elleth that his mother was.

But now – now Thranduil was able to sleep through the entire night without waking due to the nightmares he had lived through. And although the Elvenking was pleased and content at having slept through the night, he was disturbed greatly by the nature of his dreams.

These Istari of the race of men, they confused him greatly and Thranduil didn't like being confused, even more than the unknown and the blatant lying to his face.

Who are they? That is the question he had been repeating ever since his awakening.

More importantly, did what he had witnessed in his sleep take place in Arda, or was it something his subconscious made up after tiring of all the nightmares and thus creating a fictional world as a means for escape.

 _If_ his dream was in fact real and these Istari were actually in Arda, then it could prove to be very problematic; their ways of magic was dangerous and a threat to Middle Earth.

The way the dark Istari merely ended the lives of the other two Istari with naught but two words and a wooden stick, speaking in some sort of language he was unable to decipher worried him.

No Thranduil was not worried … he was scared, and he hated admitting to fear. Thranduil was an elf that was too proud, an elf that avoided fear in all shapes and forms – which was why he avoided coming to the aid of the dwarves and Erebor.

If that dark Istari was in Arda murdering families and creating havoc, then he must be stopped.

At the end, Thranduil decided that if he had a similar dream the following night then he would send for Galadriel, Elrond and Mithrandir the next day.

***The ElvenKing***The Pure of Heart***

That night when Thranduil fell into a deep sleep, he found himself in a familiar sensation, similar to the other night.

He felt solid in his dreams yet again, and he could think clearly, almost like he never went to sleep, and that was another puzzle. He was awake in his dreams but felt rejuvenated after waking up. He was asleep yet awake at the same time.

Studying his surroundings once again he discovered that it was nighttime, Thranduil knew for sure that his dreams took no place in Arda; for Arda had no dwellings such as these.

He was walking along a long narrow path; situated on both sides of him where many houses made of what looked to be some kind of stone, or marble – in Arda the dwellings of men were of the material of wood since they could afford no other.

The ones that dwell in this area must be wealthy, for he had never seen such habitats before.

Grass was planted on all sides of each house, all parallel to each other, almost as if someone meticulously cut each strand of grass to be equal and not wild; flowers bloomed, flowers he had never seen before now, and there were balls of lights encompassed in some odd tall lantern.

Thranduil jumped in his spot when a tall figure appeared next to him – he just materialized out of thin air! What sort of witchcraft was this?

The man was tall, thin and very old, Thranduil inspected as he studied the silver color of his hair and beard. _Eru_ , the old man had tucked his beard into his belt. How long was his beard? The dwarves beards were a disgrace compared to the old man's.

Thranduil knew for sure that the man could easily be a dwarf-friend just by the length of his hair and beard, and that he would be deeply respected amongst their race.

The old man was also dressed in long robes and a purple cloak that swept the ground. He wore high-heeled, buckled boots.

What an odd form of attire.

Examining the old man's facial features, he noticed his eyes were bright blue and were in fact so bright, they actually sparkled … like the Istari he witnessed die the other night, the old man had that odd framed item perched on his crooked nose that were in the shape of half-moons.

The old man looked strangely like Mithrandir, except for the fact that this man had more wrinkles adorning his face and his hair and beard were silver in contrast to Mithrandir's pure grey.

Since Thranduil was examining the man's strange attire, he missed it when the man began clicking some odd tool in his hand, but Thranduil did not fail to notice when the twelve balls of light vanished from their perched spot and into his square-shaped item.

The old man began walking at a normal pace to the direction of a wall that was positioned in front of one the houses, and then proceeded to sit down on the floor – Thranduil stared at the man in confusion as he followed him warily, and received a shock of a lifetime when the old man spoke to a cat.

The old man _spoke to a cat!_

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

The cat was named Professor McGonagall, how utterly ridiculous.

Jumping from his place for the second time in minutes, Thranduil watched in half-awe and half-shock when the cat began shifting into an old woman who was rather sever-looking and also wore that odd item in the shape of a square on the bridge of her nose. She was also wearing the attire of a green cloak and her black hair was drawn back into a tight bun.

"How did you know it was me?" the old woman – _Professor McGonagall?_ asked.

Did she mean that there were more people that could transform into a cat? What sort of dream had his subconscious created? This couldn't be real, it was preposterous.

"My dear Professor McGonagall, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

Thranduil snorted, he somehow didn't believe that – the old man wasn't being honest; Thranduil was good at detecting when someone was lying, especially to his face.

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick all day," the old women replied.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

The woman, McGonagall looked irritated with the old man's question.

What was happening?

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating all right! You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something's going on,"

 _Muggles? What in Arda are muggles?_ Thranduil wondered in bewilderment as McGonagall jerked her head in the direction of the house in front of them.

"I heard it. Flocks of owls, shooting stars. Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent – I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

 _Owls? Shooting stars? And what was Kent – she made it sound like it was some sort of place? Dedalus Diggle, what an odd name._

In fact, they all had odd names compared to Middle Earth.

Thranduil found himself growing in confusion – he was at a loss of what to think and so, he listened intently when the old man answered her.

He looked to be chastising her. "You can't blame them; we've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

Eleven years? The old man made it seem like there was a war … but the only problem he found in his kingdom was those accursed spiders coming from Dol Guldur into his forest.

Thranduil was beginning to believe that his mind created all this … or, was it possible he was looking into another world when he was in his unconscious state?

Thranduil was so lost in thoughts of the possibilities of this all being another realm that he missed whatever McGonagall spoke next, only catching on at the end of her speech.

" – I suppose he really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?"

So, the old man was called Dumbledore … what odd names these people had. He only recognized Lily and Electra from all the names he had heard so far.

Thranduil began ignoring them once they began arguing over some sweet – lemon drops, and he only focused his attention back on them when _Dumbledore_ snapped.

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort_."

 _Voldemort?_ What sort of a name is _that?_

Thranduil didn't fail to see the woman flinch, but Dumbledore did as he was picking yet another sweet before continuing, "It all gets confusing; I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

Yes, Thranduil had to agree with the old man – when Sauron was terrorizing Arda, they all either called him the Dark Lord or Sauron … it seems this Dark Lord they were speaking of frightened the people to the extent of calling him, 'You-Know-Who,' instead of his actual name.

 _Fools, they are only giving him more power._

Was this a true Dark Lord in another realm? Thranduil didn't know what to think anymore.

McGonagall looked half-exasperated and half-admiring, "I know that, but you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, _Voldemort_ , was frightened of."

So this man – Dumbledore, was a warrior. Sauron never feared any of the races in Middle Earth, yet this old man who looked to be so fragile and nearing his last days struck fear in a Dark Lord's core when he himself was feared by all.

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore, "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

Powers? Was he an Istari as well? Thranduil was struck yet again at how much he resembled Mithrandir.

"Only because you're too noble to use them," McGonagall counter backed.

Thranduil watched in interest as McGonagall badgered the old man to inform her of how this _Dark Lord_ was gone.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "Is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters –"Thranduil perked up … the Potters, those where the Istari he had witnessed get murdered last night. _It couldn't be_!

"The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they're – dead."

The old man gave no verbal response, but his bowed head was more than enough for an answer for McGonagall to go on.

"Lily and James … I can't believe it … I didn't want to believe it … Oh, Albus …"

Thranduil felt dread; he witnessed the death of two people that were greatly loved it seemed, he watched as the old man and woman mourned a death he had to be unfortunate enough to witness.

"That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's daughter, Electra. But – he couldn't. He couldn't kill a little girl. No one knows why, or how, but when he couldn't kill Electra Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke – and that's why he's gone."

So the Dark Istari was the Dark Lord, Voldemort.

Thranduil could understand how he was the Dark Lord of this realm, just the sound of his voice sent chills down his spine, and the evil laugh and maliciousness radiating from him – trying to kill a child! Yes, Dark Lord indeed.

"It's – it's _true_?" asked McGonagall, and Thranduil could see shock etched on her face. "After all he's done, all the people he's killed … he couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding … of all things to stop him … but how in the name of heaven did Electra survive?"

Thranduil could imagine exactly what McGonagall meant by ' _after all he's done, all the people he's killed_ '. Last night he showed no mercy or difficulty in killing, almost as if murder were naught but a hobby to him.

"We can only guess," said the old man wearily. "We may never know."

"But you may have some suspicions, old man," Thranduil mused as he studied Dumbledore intently.

Thranduil turned to face the other side, not wanting to watch them grieve. But at the sound of the little girl's name, he swiveled his head back to the two.

"I've come to bring Electra to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left," said Dumbledore sadly.

Thranduil was then introduced to a massive rant as McGonagall began yelling about how these ' _muggles?'_ are of the worst sort and of how famous Electra is – how everyone in _their world_ would know her name and that books could be written about her, making Dumbledore turn to her in all seriousness .

"Exactly, it would be enough to turn any girl's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

 _How preposterous! Who would want to be famous for surviving when their parents didn't?!_

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore – Thranduil missed yet another half of the conversation, lost in thought.

For the third time that night, Thranduil jumped in surprise as a low rumbling sound grew steadily around them. With Thranduil's sensitive hearing he could tell it was coming from the _sky_.

If Thranduil hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't believe it; there was a _huge_ man on an equally _huge_ contraption.

It was some form of transport; it seemed that they do not use horses and carts in this realm. He couldn't even begin to fathom how that metal contraption worked.

The man himself was the biggest he had ever seen in all his millennia of living; he was twice as tall as his own height and maybe five or six times as wide. He also had wild tangles of bushy black hair and beard which hid most of his face, and his hands and feet were the size of a tray.

What looked to be out of place in Thranduil's opinion, was the tiny bundle of blankets in his arms.

 _This must be Hagrid._

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

 _Motorcycle? Is that what the contraption was called … what an odd name._

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said Hagrid, the giant as he got off the _thing_ carefully. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me –"

 _Sirius Black?_ Could he be another Istari? How many of them exist in this realm … and the woman, he never knew an Istari to be in the form of a female.

In Arda there were only five; and so far Thranduil had seen five … counting the little girl, and possibly the giant, then seven.

"House was almost destroyed, but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Thranduil gaped. _Fly?_ That massive, metal contraption has means of traveling through air and land … that was incredible. In Arda, the only means of traveling by air are by the Great Eagles, and that in itself was quite rare.

He watched as the old man and woman bent forward to take a look at the baby, and she looked just as he remembered from last night – curls of hair the color of the finest rubies, small heart-shaped face and delicate rosy lips and he knew that when she opened her eyes, it would be the color of sparkling emeralds of the richest cut.

However, there was one thing different about her face; on her forehead, there was a curious shaped cut – a scar – like a lightning bolt.

He was interrupted from his musings and shock when McGonagall spoke up, "Is that were –?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore gravely, "She'll have that scar forever."

As they argued over whether or not they could remove the scar, Thranduil rolled his eyes – he was sure that Elrond would be able to get rid of it instantaneously.

Thranduil watched as the old man placed the little bundle of blankets on the doorstep, leaving the little girl alone for the night.

 _At least the little girl has family remaining._

He was sure that her kin would dote on her the second they laid eyes on her.

He was shaken from his thoughts when the two Istari and the giant separated to leave.

Dumbledore walked over to the initial spot he appeared from and once returning the balls of light to their original place, he turned around sparing a glance at the bundle of blankets.

Thranduil heard him murmur with his excellent hearing, "Good luck, Electra."

As he disappeared with a swish of his cloak, Thranduil found himself awakening in Mirkwood, on his bed.

Swiftly, Thranduil went to his private bathing chamber, and after thoroughly cleansing himself he donned on his meticulous robes fit for his stature and stormed off to the throne room, calling for Galion.

"You called for me, my King," Galion bowed his head reverently.

"Yes, have messengers depart, one group to Rivendell to Lord Elrond and another to Lothlórien, to the Lady Galadriel."

"And the message sire?" Galion inquired.

"That I require an audience of the utmost importance at their earliest convenience, and have the Lady Galadriel inform Mithrandir, if I am to send messengers to find the wandering wizard it could take years, the Lady Galadriel has her ways of contacting him."

Galion bowed and took his leave, and Thranduil sat down in his throne pondering all that he had seen.

Yes, it cannot be a coincidence that he dreamt up events of the little girl twice in a row. Something was amiss, what was the importance of the little girl that had managed to escape death … in all the Ages, Thranduil never thought another realm was possible.

It would not be until later on, that Thranduil would realize that it had been the second night that he slept in stillness.

 **A/N:** **How did you like the second chapter?**

 **Now that these two important events have been seen by Thranduil, Electra Potter's life will not be like in cannon; there will be events that happened the same as for Harry Potter, but I will be creating my own OC and changing things a bit.**

 **Question: would you like it all to be Thranduil POV for now? Or would you like me to switch it up? Showing some Electra POV as well?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 3:**

A fortnight had passed since Thranduil had his butler Galion send word to Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel, and neither they nor his guards have arrived yet, and Thranduil was getting antsy.

Every night since then he has been dreaming of her first days with her kin, and after a fortnight of standing idly by and watching everything occur unable to intervene, he was about ready to tear his hair out, which was very unusual for the stoic, bitter King he portrayed himself to be.

He watched as a tall and bony woman with dull brown eyes, a pinched face and shoulder length blonde hair opened the door to put the milk bottles out and shriek an ear-piecing scream, managing to nearly shatter his eardrums; and with the elves sensitive and perfected hearing, Thranduil instantly hated the plain woman who turned out to be her aunt.

He watched as she argued with her husband, an overweight man with beady eyes and a large mustache resembling a wild boar in the now darkened and wild forest of Mirkwood, about whether or not they should place her in an orphanage – which turned out to be a place where parentless children were sent off to with no kin to take care of.

He watched as a fat toddler who looked to be about Electra's age but huge in comparison, prod and pinch her, emitting painful cries out of the little girl who had been sitting innocently in nothing but the bundle that old man left her in from the night before, watching her kin argue about whether or not they should keep her, as though she were a mere object and not of kin.

Thranduil watched as they agreed on keeping her but _stamping_ her unnaturalness out – having no idea what in Middle Earth they meant by that exactly, but his sharp mind comprehending that they were speaking of the magic she wields.

And lastly, Thranduil looked on in horror as they all but threw her into a dark and suffocating broom pantry under the stairs, slamming the door shut and ignoring her cries, as though hoping it would keep her from interfering with their lives as much as possible.

And that all happened on the first day!

May the Valar help the poor girl; Thranduil was outraged by the actions of her kin, that he so wished he could appear over to them and order them to be locked up in the dungeons of his Kingdom with strict orders of giving them nothing but stale bread and water until they rot.

Thranduil feared succumbing to sleep the next night for fear of witnessing what else he was about to witness happening to the poor orphan girl that would have been better off being left in that … _orphanage._

But there was nothing the Elvenking could do as he watched the days of Electra Potter pass by in that - that household.

Thranduil surveyed the second and third day pass by; observing her kin eating hearty meals and leaving nothing for her – not even remaining scraps. A fifteen month old child that just went through the murder of her parents, actually witnessing her mother's death and surviving death herself, left to starve at the house of her kin, bawling her little lungs out at the lack of food, oxygen and attention.

It wasn't until the fourth day that her shrew of an aunt finally opened the wooden door separating her from her niece and grudgingly changed her incredibly soiled undergarment that had piled up due to fright and inattention; feeding her a small bottle of milk that didn't look healthy enough and then washing her quickly with barely any soap before throwing her back into the pantry under the stairs.

And on it went, like a never-ending, excruciating and heart-wrenching cycle.

For three days, Thranduil would watch as Electra would bawl her lungs out, her tiny fists curling in pain and fear, her large doe-like emerald eyes constantly filled with large amount of tears, her plump and rosy lips opened as wide as possible to let the tormented cries out, and her face strained red with pink splotches on her chubby cheeks.

During those three days, Thranduil would alternate between watching her cry in the dark, and storm after her kin while they ate meals prepared by the shrew, played with their spoilt son and ignored the anguished cries coming from their niece, occasionally rolling their eyes when she wouldn't stop, or in the fat husband's case, glare with as much malice he could muster in the direction of the pantry as though it were her fault she was not being cared for and looked after.

After three days of ignoring her, the shrew would once again clean up her niece like she did the three previous days before, barely showing her any care or providing her with enough hygiene.

After ten days of this torturous cycle Thranduil was forcefully bared to witness, Electra's cries lessened greatly, and that was when Thranduil knew; Electra's mind and body was adapting to being starved, given poor portions of a meal and her eyes were acclimating to the dark and diminutive pantry.

Thranduil didn't know how much longer he could withstand witnessing such torture, abandonment and emotional abuse; he didn't know much longer he could care to witness such monsters treat a child so poorly.

Electra was at a delicate age where she needed someone to help her to survive, she could not survive by herself without any care for at least a couple more years, depending on how smart a child was and if they had the strong will to live.

Thranduil wanted … no he _needed_ the presence of Elrond, Galadriel and Mithrandir. He _needed_ them to give him a solution of ending these despairing dreams.

At times Thranduil's thoughts would drift over to his son, Legolas, and what would have happened if he didn't have the strength to care for his son until he had reached maturity and was able to care for himself; if he didn't have the vigor to raise his son without his Lainathiel.

Thranduil knew that the elves of Greenwood would never mistreat his son, the Prince and heir to his throne, to his Kingdom; he knew that they would raise him well, properly care for him and teach him the lessons of life if he was unable to do so himself, and for that he was so extremely grateful.

He didn't allow himself to torture his mind for long with thoughts and images of Legolas being in Electra's place, for his heart threatened to burst at the simple mere thought of it.

For a whole fortnight, Thranduil kept swallowing on his bile, not allowing him to submit to any weakness and trying his hardest to carry on with his duties toward his Kingdom and his son after awakening from such horrifying visions.

He knew that Legolas had become suspicious of his behavior, and many a times he would overhear him demanding the guards if Elrond, Galadriel or Mithrandir arrived, to no avail.

Finally sixteen days later, Galion announced that Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel had arrived, and Thranduil wasted no time in barking out orders to give them privacy while managing to keep his stoic and impassive persona in place, not allowing the blissful relief to show whatsoever.

"Thranduil, how are you my friend?" asked Galadriel, her calm and pure sweet voice succeeding in relaxing his nerves.

Bowing to his old friends, Thranduil ignored the question, "Where is Mithrandir?"

Elrond raised an eyebrow at his friend; he had known Thranduil for a long time to know that his impassiveness was all a façade at the current moment and that he was desperate for the wandering wizard's presence.

Galadriel gave him an apologetic look as she said, "I'm sorry mellon nin, I tried, but I wasn't able to contact him."

"No need my Lady, I am here," a booming voice called out. The three elves turned to see Mithrandir entering the throne room with a serene smile on his wizened face.

"How did you know to be here?" asked Thranduil, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"King Thranduil, you should know by now that a wizard knows where he is meant to be at a time of great need; when you sent your guards bearing a message to Rivendell and Lothlórien, I hastened to make my path to you in time," stated Mithrandir with a subtly smug look on his face.

Galadriel smiled knowingly and Elrond managed a chuckle before addressing the nervous King, "What is it mellon? What was so dire that you called upon us with such haste and importance?"

"I don't understand it myself, so bear with me," upon receiving three instantaneous nods, Thranduil continued, "Over a fortnight ago, I witnessed disturbing dreams where I observe everything in a physical form yet I am not there and cannot change the outcome of events transpiring within right before me."

Elrond and Mithrandir looked confused; however Thranduil shared eye contact with Galadriel, allowing her to observe all the disturbing scenes he was unfortunate enough to witness every night.

Galadriel withdrew a sharp intake of breath, causing the other two to stare at them both in confusion and a slight bit of impatience.

"What?" asked Elrond.

"What is it you two speak of?" Mithrandir prodded, he did not like being kept in the dark, as a wizard he took pride in knowing nearly everything that would and could occur in Arda – Middle Earth, as he was sent to do by the Valar themselves.

Thranduil began laying all the events he was bore to witness, every excruciating detail; from the family of Istari; to the dark Istari who murdered them and tried murdering the child in the same way but failed, destroying himself in the process; then he proceeded to explain the events of the old man, the old and somewhat strict woman and the giant leaving the orphaned child on the doorstep of her kin; and lastly, the first fortnight with her kin in despairing neglect.

While Thranduil explained everything to the confused Lord Elrond and Mithrandir, Galadriel stayed by the side in silence, keeping an ear out to the conversation taking place and pondering the reason and nature of these dreams.

"That's impossible Thranduil," uttered Elrond in shock.

"Don't you think I know that?!" snapped an enraged Thranduil. "You think I enjoy watching a family get murdered and then torn apart? I witnessed their final moments! I witnessed the father playing with his daughter, and the mother jesting with them; I witnessed their dying moments and the moment when the dark Istari tried _murdering_ an innocent little girl! And now I am forced to watch as her kin abuse her and mistreat her, starving her of food, love and affection!" he ranted in anger.

"Calm down mellon nin, I am not saying I don't believe you, I am merely stating that it is unheard of," said Elrond in a placating manner, holding both palms up in peace. Looking over at Mithrandir he asked, "What do you think of all this Mithrandir?"

"I? I have naught a clue my Lord Elrond. This is baffling. My lady?" said Mithrandir, placing the attention on Galadriel and away from himself.

"I think … I think that it is no mere dream you speak of Thranduil, I think that those you dream of actually exist, yet in another world, a world very much different from ours," Galadriel finally spoke.

"In all these millennia in Arda, I have never heard of the existence of another world, other than our own," said Thranduil, his mouth gaping slightly, losing all composure.

"Just because something is unheard of, does not mean it doesn't exist mellon nin," rebuked Galadriel in a slightly chiding tone. "Anything is possible."

"So why is King Thranduil the only one to have experienced the other world in his sleeping state?" implored Mithrandir, a spark of curiosity igniting in his grey eyes.

"And why is it centered on this girl? Electra?" added Elrond.

Thranduil waited with abated breath for the answer; he knew that Galadriel had contact with the Valar more than the others, and she was the one to help him the most with this situation, especially with her gift of sight that was far more potent that Elrond's.

Galadriel stayed silent for a while, her eyes staring into nothing as she searched for the answer.

"I cannot say for sure … nothing is absolute … however, I do believe the girl is important in that world you dream of, after all she did survive death when there was no escape at the age of one," said Galadriel slowly, she held a finger up asking them to not interrupt, "She may either be of importance somehow in the far off future, or the Valar believes that there is something to learn from witnessing her life unfold … either way, they have chosen you to be the one to bear witness to it. I'm sorry mellon nin, I don't know much else."

Thranduil sighed, "No don't be my Lady, you have helped me far more than you could. I knew deep inside that she was real … that all that happened to her was actually happening somewhere not in Arda, I was merely in denial due to the cruel treatment towards her and the horrifying events surrounding her, I didn't want it to be real."

"What action is to be taken?" asked Mithrandir in all seriousness.

"We must stay strong and keep in contact about anything to do with this mysterious girl," said Elrond matter-of-factly.

"Elrond is correct," said Galadriel looking appeased. "Thranduil, mellon nin, if you do not mind informing us whenever something important where to occur with her, we would be much grateful."

Swallowing, Thranduil said, "Of course. I was to do that nonetheless, I just hoped there was a way to stop the dreams from occurring."

"If only … if only," muttered Mithrandir.

"It could be a good thing in the end Thranduil," said Galadriel with a hint of a smile. _Yes, a very good thing if everything happens as it should be._

Mithrandir stared at Galadriel with a knowing look as he hid a smile; he knew that the Lady was as shocked as they were once Thranduil revealed this shocking discovery, but he was suspicious that the Lady knew more than she should after staring into nothing – she always did.

Knowing the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, she wasn't to reveal anything until they were meant to be; until events were to unfold as they should _without_ any interference.

 **A/N:** **So this chapter was a filler chapter explaining everything. I am not going to make it all dreams only. What did you think of Galadriel? I always viewed her to be the all-knowing, but unable to reveal much due to consequences that could occur.**

 **Next chapter will be a time-skip where Electra will be turning eleven and getting her Hogwarts letter … or do you want another filler chapter before she turns eleven?**

 **Let me know if you want all Thranduil POV, or if you would like a few Electra's thrown in every once in a while …?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 4:**

It has been ten years since Thranduil began witnessing the life of Electra Amycate Potter unfold, and it has been _highly_ illuminating and _deeply_ disturbing.

It was highly illuminating for Thranduil to see how life worked in the other world, and he learned plenty. Their modes of transportation were incredible; their housings, buildings, electricity and technology – it all baffled him, and Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir fared no better when he _tried_ explaining it to them.

Lady Galadriel would also help him to explain after having seen it in his head, but she was barely able to succeed either, and the three elves and one wizard agreed that the other world was extraordinary and easily adapted to change; they tried to make life easier and barely did anything manually.

Even though Thranduil was mesmerized by all that he had seen, and their ways of living, he believed them to be slightly lazy, relying on others and on technology instead of themselves.

Thranduil was deeply disturbed however.

If he thought that what he had seen during Electra's first fortnight with her kin was bad, then he was highly mistaken and had greatly miscalculated.

 _Ten years_ of witnessing all the suffering life had doled out for the sweet innocent little girl.

As the first fortnight passed, Thranduil could not believe her kin to get any worse; but they did.

Thranduil spent ten years, _ten long excruciating years_ , watching as Electra grew up calling that pantry under the stairs her room. He watched as she got turned into their personal servant, cleaning every nook and cranny of the house. He watched as she spent all day tending the garden during the sweltering heat and under the scorching sun.

Thranduil watched as Electra began cooking for the shrew, her fat husband and spoilt son – both of whom were tremendously large in weight _and_ width; he watched as she slaved her time over the stove to prepare a wonderful meal for her kin and get nothing in return – Electra was lucky if she received a few scraps of the remaining meal.

Thranduil witnessed the moment Electra realized her name wasn't ' _Freak'_ or ' _Girl',_ but Electra Amycate Potter at the age of five, which was the age her kin began sending her off to school – an educational system where children learn subjects together. The teacher began the lesson by first calling out attendance, and upon reaching Electra's name, it was only due to her cousin Dudley (Thranduil couldn't even comprehend what kind of name _that_ was) poked her, that she realized it was her _actual_ name.

He then proceeded to watch as Dudley and his friends bullied Electra constantly. He watched as Electra would run as fast as she could back home from school _every day_ to avoid them. He watched as Electra tried her hardest at avoiding 'Electra Hunting' – a _game_ the boy created for the _amusement_ of himself and his friends.

Thranduil was appalled when he witnessed Electra return from school one day with outstanding grades in her hand and a proud, excited smile on her face, at her kin's reaction. However, upon showing them the results of her exams, they laid a hand on her; they smacked her around and then threw her into the pantry with the threats of no food, and starved her for a week, shouting at her for scoring higher than their son and for being a show off.

Thranduil ranted and raved for weeks after that incident; fortunately for the elves in Mirkwood, Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel were scheduled to be arriving soon and they would be able to handle him and calm their King down.

What Mirkwood didn't expect, was for the Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel to actually _join_ King Thranduil in his anger. The two elves were not pleased at all with the latest news Thranduil had imparted them with.

They have never, in all their millennia's of living, heard of a parent, of such adults, encouraging a child to get low grades in their studies; the idea that Electra's kin _shouted_ at her, _flogged_ her _, locked her up_ in the pantry and then proceeded to _starve_ her for a week for gaining outstanding grades irked them so, and provoked their ire.

For the hundredth time, Thranduil wished he could appear over to that world – _to that_ house –and order his guards to have them locked up in the dungeons of Mirkwood with nothing but stale bread and water, enough to keep them alive for a long time and suffer for the rest of their pathetic lives.

Thranduil was impressed with Electra's method of dealing with the warning her kin gave her.

Once Electra received the results of her tests from then onwards, she would forge a lower grade on the parchment with the same color ink the teacher used, changing her actual result to one below her cousins. Thranduil was appeased that Electra wasn't setting herself for failure, striving to do her best regardless of the wishes of her kin.

Thranduil watched with fascination and horror as strange things would occur every now and then in Electra's normal, horrifying and rather dull life.

He watched amused as the shrew was trying to place an ugly brown and yellow kind of tunic – but of different fabric, design and style, a jumper apparently. He watched as the shrew tugged it over a four year old Electra's head, but every time she managed a tug, it shrunk, and on it went until the jumper was doll-sized.

There was another event Thranduil witnessed, when the shrew was exasperated with all the compliments Electra would receive due to her long, thick and soft wavy hair the color of pure rubies, and so, she sat Electra onto a ledge – _counter,_ in the house and chopped all her hair off, except for a small fringe, claiming that it would ' _hide that horrible scar_.'

Thranduil stared in horror as young six year old Electra Amycate Potter cried silent tears in the suffocating darkness of the pantry, crying over the loss of her hair – the only thing that she loved about herself, other than the scar but only because it was something her cousin didn't have. However, the next day when Thranduil visited her in his sleep, he noticed that her hair was back to normal, before the shrew gave it a horrendous cut.

Thranduil wished he could throttle the shrew when she gave her two weeks of punishment, staying locked in the pantry with barely any meals, ignoring Electra's cries of disbelief stating that she didn't know _how_ her hair grew overnight.

Honestly, the woman was an idiot. She was doing her utter best in keeping Electra ignorant of her magical heritage, yet she would punish her when something out of her control happened.

Thranduil actually discussed the subject with Elrond when he went with his son, Legolas a few years back to visit Rivendell. After trading ideas and theories, they came to the conclusion that in their world, the wizards weren't able to control their magic until they reach a certain age perhaps. Or, that due to an emotional outburst, their magic would retaliate to protect or heal.

It did slightly make sense, the first time it happened, little Electra didn't want to don on that revolting _jumper_ , and the second time Electra was in distress and unhappy at the hacking off of her hair.

Two years after the hair incident, Thranduil witnessed an unbelievable burst of magic from Electra, one that had him recall the time the old man placed her on her kin's doorstep.

Her _cousin_ – Thranduil couldn't help but sneer when he thought of that fat boy that she shared blood with, and his hoodlum friends began chasing eight year old Electra around the school, and as she was jumping over a large dustbin, she vanished into thin air, only to reappear on the roof.

And though Thranduil found these accidental bursts of magic to be illuminating and very fascinating, he hated the backlash. He despised watching the punishments doled out to her from her kin for something she could not control; something she thought didn't exist when it ran through her veins, inherited from her parents.

But what aggravated King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm the most in all his ten years of witnessing each excruciating day of Electra Amycate Potter's life, was when Electra had one day curiously asked about her parents.

" _They died in a car crash. Your father was a drunk and drove while intoxicated, killing your mother in the process and giving you that horrible scar."_

Thranduil already knew what a car was due to ten years spent watching the fat husband leave the house to work in one, and Thranduil exploded.

Every elf near the vicinity ran away from him for fear that they would have to suffer his ire.

Prince Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil spent most of his time with his best friend, Captain Tauriel, killing the spiders that were trying to invade their forest. Legolas noticed his father to be acting very odd for the past decade, and for the life of him he didn't know why.

Thranduil was enraged that her kin, her mother's own sister, would modulate her death. Insult her death. For it is an insult to memory.

Drunk father, driving while intoxicated, killing them both in the process, giving her that scar. LIES!

Thranduil knew that a part of him was infuriated so and took it a tad bit personally due to the fact that he _witnessed_ their last dying moments; Thranduil was forced to observe the way they fought and pleaded before they were murdered, killed bravely to give life to their daughter who was being treated as a servant, being lied to and punished unfairly by her own kin.

Thranduil hoped that one day her kin would suffer horribly, in recompense.

Today Thranduil was to observe the fat lump's eleventh birthday; Thranduil still found it shocking how eleven to the race of men was a big deal and a cause for celebration, however for elves, it is naught but time passing by. Time didn't mean much to the elves; it would always pass slowly due to the many years and events they lived through.

Thranduil shook his head in disapproval as the boy began a hissy fit over the fact that he had _thirty-six_ presents, stating that last year he had _thirty-seven_. Legolas barely got as many presents as the spoilt boy, and his son was the _Prince_ of a large _Kingdom._

Looking over at Electra, who was dressed in the rags of the boy's, he couldn't help but feel a stab of something jolt in him … pity perhaps?

Electra never got any presents; her kin only ever gave her two presents, once they gifted her with a hook for the clothes and another time, mustard color footwear that belonged to her fat uncle.

Electra had grown in nicely, Thranduil thought as he studied her. Her childish features were still there, however she was nearing adolescent. Her ruby colored hair now reached to her waist and she had a short fringe to cover her scar, her doe-like emerald green eyes were surrounded by thick, black lashes, she had prominent cheekbones, a straight nose and plump, rosy lips.

Flitting around aimlessly while the boy unwrapped his presents eagerly, the next thing Thranduil knew was him popping into another place, a rather strange place …

Thranduil gaped at the sight that met his eyes; it was as though he were trapped in the wild, but surrounded by a huge mass of people, and where people were buying food. There were animals _everywhere_ ; animals he had never seen before; animals that were trapped behind metal bars, like an outdoor dungeon, but one that was more comfortable.

Looking to his right, he saw Electra walk in behind her kin and another boy that looked like a rat, and he understood. Thranduil had only ever been at her kin's house and at school whenever her witnessed Electra's day to day life, but only because they were the only areas Electra had ever been in.

Since it was her first time leaving her neighborhood and school, Thranduil followed.

The King of Woodland Realm was astonished by the new sights, watching with awe at all the different varieties of animals existed that weren't found or even known in Arda.

He smiled at Electra, glad that for once she was having a good time and was enjoying herself.

When they reached the reptile section, he stared in a horrified trance at all the species of snakes ranging from poisonous to extremely docile, before finally stopping on the glassed room that held a _boa constrictor?_ According to the sign.

It was gigantic in size, and the paternal side in him itched to somehow push the tiny redhead from its sight, locked up or not. However, something happened that shocked him to the core.

Something he didn't even _believe_ to be possible … Electra was _hissing_ at the snake. Looking at the boa constrictor, he realized that it was staring intently at Electra, and dare he say it – it was hissing back.

 _Electra could speak the language of snakes!_

By the looks of it, it seemed like they were having quite an engaging conversation. Shaking his head, Thranduil wondered if he would ever stop getting shocked by all the wondrous things Electra could do. She constantly surprised him … something Thranduil thought to be impossible, as he was rarely taken by surprise.

Of course the _boy_ had to come waddling by and interrupt her. He knocked her into the floor, staring in awe at the boa constrictor with his pudgy hands on the glass.

Looking at Electra, her face was scrunched up in frustration, and suddenly, the glass just _disappeared_ and the boy fell into the tank. The snake hissed by her body and it appeared as though it was thanking her, before slithering on the floor. The area was filled with frightened screaming of the other humans, screams of fear as the snake just passed by and disappeared outdoors.

After that stunt, Electra was locked into the pantry for a whole month, and Thranduil began fuming again. He informed Elrond, Galadriel and Mithrandir about her latest talent that he discovered, and they were in similar awe that she could converse in the snake language.

It was agreed that this girl was special and they knew that she would continue to amaze them as she matured.

The week before Electra's eleventh birthday, the Woodland Realm was treated to a rare experience as their King seemed to be in an exceptional happy mood, something that was incredibly rare to come by ever since the departure of their Queen.

For even though Thranduil was enraged that her kin was taking away the first letters she had ever received, the methods of their arrivals and the tormenting of her kin balanced it out.

Thranduil knew that the letters being delivered to Electra was related to the magic she possessed, since they were being sent by owls, and they would appear in the most magnificent of ways that was borderline hilarious.

The first day she received one letter, her kin flipped out; paranoid that the wielders of magic were spying on them, they moved Electra into the boy's _second bedroom_ , second since the boy couldn't fit all his _toys_ into _one_ room; Thranduil sneered at that, disgusted that such people actually existed.

Her kin thought it was the end, however they could not have been more mistaken as more letters would arrive per day stating the exact address of Electra's – including the room she slept in.

It began accumulating, even when her fat uncle began using his tools on the mail slot barring the letter's entry, and every crack and crevice of the house, as it seemed the letters could fit magically through the smallest of holes and slits.

Five days of barring the letters and preventing Electra from reading them, and her kin grew desperate. They packed their bags and fled from the area, hoping that the one sending the letters wouldn't be able to find them.

Thranduil did not know how magic worked in that world, but a part of him knew that it would make no difference, and her kin was merely preventing the inevitable.

Finally, a few hours before Electra's birthday, they rented out a dilapidated shack by the sea.

 _During a storm._

 _By Eru, that man should not be a parent! He was completely unfit to be one._

When Thranduil went to sleep that night, he was welcomed to a scene of someone on the other side breaking down the door, entering into the shack and then fitting it back behind him.

Recognition flittered along Thranduil's face, recognizing him to be the giant that brought Electra to her kin that night.

Thranduil stayed by the corner, watching the events unfold and all the lies her kin planted into her head dissolve. The giant – _Hagrid_ told her about how her parents actually died, defending the memory of her dead parents.

Thranduil watched Electra closely that night. He watched the emotions displayed on her face, and those expressive emerald green eyes flash with each and every emotion.

The girl wore her heart on her sleeve.

He observed the excruciating sadness appear once Electra discovered the truth of her parent's death. He watched her mourn in silence and a few tears escape those unique eyes. He watched her eyes widen in fear and uncertainty when Hagrid informed her of how she received that scar she was so fond of.

Thranduil knew that this was the moment when Electra would begin hating it, as he observed her hand flinch when she went to trace it and her eyes twitch.

He then watched the awe and happiness brighten up her features as soon as she finally read her letter, discovering that she was in fact a witch, _not a freak!_ and that she possessed magic, which was the reason for all the strange things that occurred when she was too emotional.

It took Hagrid quite a while to convince Electra that it was no joke; and that was when Thranduil noticed another quality about Electra Amycate Potter, an appealing quality to her personality – she was modest, so incredibly humble.

When the shrew began cussing her sister – Electra's dead parents, Thranduil felt such rage, and he was glad the giant was there to silence the maddening woman.

It was jealousy. Thranduil felt like a dullard that he hadn't noticed it before.

Of course, that would be the reason why the shrew was so bitter and cruel toward her own niece, why she allowed her husband and son to treat Electra so poorly; _she was jealous._

Jealous that her sister possessed the gift of magic and went to a school for witchcraft and wizardry when she couldn't.

The highlight of the evening however, was when the giant gave the boy a pig's tail, when the fat uncle insulted the old man that left Electra at her kin's eleven years ago; and when Thranduil woke up from his restful sleep, he began to laugh, tears of mirth streaming from his eyes.

Elrond, Galadriel and Mithrandir were under the impression that the world Thranduil dreamed of had plenty of Istaris, but it came as a complete surprise when Thranduil informed them that there was in fact, a _school_ for teaching children magic.

What baffled them however, was when Thranduil informed them of the _'muggleborns'._

They found it strange and unexplainable that there were children born to parents that do not in fact possess any magic at all, were born witches and wizards.

Electra possessed magic due to the fact that _both_ her parents had magic, however those born to parents that lacked … how was it they inherited magic?

That was a question they hoped to be answered the more Thranduil dreamed of this world and the life of Electra Amycate Potter.

 **A/N:** **This was a filler chapter, as well as Thranduil's thoughts from Electra's first two weeks with the Dursleys until her eleventh birthday.**

 **Next chapter, we will finally see Electra in Hogwarts! =)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 5:**

Mirkwood found their King to be in a miraculously good mood all day, something Legolas found to be suspicious. For a while now, he had been wondering if perhaps, his father has taken in a lover – for he could not imagine _what_ exactly would make him in such a delightful temperament.

Legolas however, couldn't be any more wrong, and if Mirkwood made a betting pool to discover what the precise cause of his decent state was, they would all lose their gold and silver.

King Thranduil was smiling all day, and would occasionally chuckle to himself due to the pig's tail the giant had given the boy. The look on the shrew and her husband's face was well worth it; though they hadn't suffered much yet in his opinion for all the suffering they had caused Electra.

All hilarity aside, that piece of magic was incredible. To give a person a part of an animal's anatomy was quite astonishing – he doubted the Istaris of Arda could produce such magic; he couldn't even begin to fathom how it was possible.

That night, Thranduil went to sleep, and for once he was actually looking forward to what he would see next; he knew that Electra would be accompanying the giant into the magical world, and he was curious to see what that part of the other world held.

Once his eyes drifted shut and his mind went into its restful state, Thranduil found himself standing in the middle of a grubby tavern; it was crowded and full of people smoking pipes and having drinks. The moronic giant however, brought attention to Electra and she was mobbed by everyone welcoming her back into the wizarding world.

Thranduil was astonished by her fame; although in retrospect surviving death was no feat and completely miraculous. Thranduil noticed that Electra seemed uncomfortable with everyone crowding around her; it seemed she didn't like being the focal point of interest.

Past some blubbering, stuttering fool who would apparently be teaching her at school; the giant tapped random bricks with a stick dressed in pink garment and Thranduil watched in awe as they _moved_ ; the stone wall moved, showing a magnificent place bustling with many from the race of men.

Thranduil had a feeling that there were more magicals, and not just the ones in front of him.

Mithrandir would get a shock out of that – and Thranduil would be delighted to watch, nothing ever surprised that certain Istari much. But in all seriousness, it was mind-boggling how many Istaris this world had; unlike Arda, in this world, the Istari can conceive many children.

Thranduil followed Electra and the giant as they passed many stalls selling magical items that he could not comprehend. He was able to recognize a cauldron stall from the sign overhead.

His ears began throbbing at the shrill piercing screeches those vociferous owls were making and he wished the giant would take longer strides away from them.

Finally, they stopped in front of a snowy white structure that towered over the other stalls. Gringotts according to the giant – _whatever_ that meant. This land had queer names.

However, what shocked Thranduil so was when he looked upon some form of creature dressed in scarlet and gold uniforms; they were a head shorter than Electra, and had leathery faces, pointed beards and very long fingers and feet.

 _GOBLINS?!_

Those creatures were _goblins_?! They looked _nothing_ like the goblins residing in Middle Earth, in the Misty Mountains.

As they entered the _bank_ , the … goblin, _bowed_.

 _A goblin that bows to humans?_ Thranduil had to admit, he preferred this world's goblins, and would gladly make a trade.

Walking in, Thranduil noticed there were huge masses of goblins and they were all doing different sorts of jobs, whether it be weighing precious stones or coins in some weighing contraption.

After a horrendous and unsettling ride to Electra's vault where Thranduil was surprised with the amount of gold, silver and bronze coins the little girl had inherited from her deceased parents.

Thranduil understood body language, and all to do with nobility – it was only due to his keen eyes that he noticed the way the goblins would look at her with respect, and not for her fame; no, it seemed that Electra was part of nobility.

They then headed off to another vault that was mentioned to be a high security one. Watching in slight fascination as the goblin opened it with his _nail_ ; his eyes narrowed in on the small package wrapped in brown package before the giant hastily tucked it into his large pocket. It seemed to be of great importance.

Next, Thranduil found himself into a robe shop as Electra had to buy uniforms for school. Watching in distaste as a snobbish and rude boy with despicable manners began talking.

What on earth was _Qweedutch_? Quid-eech … no, wait, Quid-ditch.

 _Quidditch!_

Preposterous name! Where did these humans come up with them?

Thranduil then had to stand and listen to the boy blather about his father this and his mother that, before he blatantly insulted the giant to Electra's face – the manners on this boy outstand him, where his parents sleeping on the job? Or did they encourage such demeanor.

No, no, Thranduil did not like this boy at all, and Electra would heed to stay as far away from him as possible.

On and on the shopping continued, until they finally entered a wand shop. The old man that ran the stall made his hair slightly stand on end; he looked uncannily strange, and he didn't know how to keep appropriate distance from others.

The nerve of him to actually _touch_ her scar!

Thranduil would admit he found it ominous that Electra's wand turned out to be the brother of the dark Istari's.

 _Yes, something ominous indeed._

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

"I'm sorry mellon, could you repeat that."

" _Goblins_ run a bank!" exclaimed Thranduil to Elrond, who was visiting Mirkwood for a couple of days.

"And they donned garments … is that correct?" Elrond gaped in a very un-Lord-like fashion.

"Exactly, I was shocked as well. Also, they looked nothing like those boil-infested and slimy creatures residing in the Misty Mountains. They were clean and proper and they _bowed_ to humans," said Thranduil.

"It's like a paradox universe of Arda," Elrond mused.

"They have hundreds of Istaris Elrond, unlike our five. They can conceive as well," Thranduil informed him. "There were hundreds in the marketplace _only_."

Elrond sighed, "The Valar only saw fit to send us the five. We must make do and thank the Valar for sending them to us."

"Yes I know, I'm not coming out as ungrateful or anything, but I have barely seen any magic at all, yet they few I have witnessed were astounding," said Thranduil, "Another thing Elrond, apparently their world has _dragons_!"

" _What? Airborne fire-breathers_?" said Elrond sitting up straight, his eyes devoid of any previous humor.

"Yes," Thranduil's right side twitched – the side where he had been burned with dragon fire all those centuries ago. "You know my record with dragons, and how I feel about them. Apparently in their world they are not as frightened of them. The giant actually wanted one as a _pet!_ "

Elrond scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous Thranduil."

"Tell him that not me," snapped Thranduil, "The giant is out of his mind. Nutty if you ask me."

"Let us hope he doesn't get one as a _pet_ ," Elrond shook his head in disbelief.

Suddenly he perked up in remembrance and Lord Elrond inwardly smiled, it had been since Lainathiel had sailed away that he had seen Thranduil look so riveted, passionate and lively about something, instead of the alternative bitterness, unfeeling and aloofness.

"The other day, the giant gave the _boy_ a _pig's_ tail! Can you believe what marvelous craft that is?"

"A pig's tail? You're not jesting," gasped Elrond in awe; he then looked like he was remembering something, "That is what had you in such a good mood the other day."

"What of it?" asked a perplexed Thranduil.

"Your servants and guards were making bets on what had you so happy; your son believes you have found yourself a _lover_ ," said an amused Elrond.

"That is absurd!" scoffed Thranduil. "Legolas always went to extremities, ever since he was a child."

"Yes, maybe you should talk to him about it before he begins focusing all his attention in finding the mysterious, yet non-existing lover of yours," Elrond smirked.

Thranduil sighed, massaging his temples with his forefingers as he thought about his nosy, curious son – he wouldn't give up so easily, and he didn't take defeat well.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Electra Amycate Potter sat in her compartment in the Hogwarts Express, staring out of the window at the large family of redheads. She watched as the kind plump mother who had helped her reach the platform, cared and gave words of wisdom to her children.

She watched as the siblings all began joking with each other, teasing one another. She watched sadly as she witnessed how a mother should be and she began thinking about all the 'what ifs'.

What if her parents were alive, would her mother have been like the plump lady? Would her father encourage her to play pranks, would her mother try embarrassing her in front of her friends? Would she have had any younger siblings?

What if, what if, _what if._

Electra was happy that she was leaving to Hogwarts, finally going to a place where she won't be the freak girl or the servant, but going to a place where she could work to her full potential and have the teachers be proud of her high grades and dedication.

Maybe she could make friends for the first time in her life, have them like her for who she is and not for her fame.

Honestly, it was ridiculous! She was famous because her parents died for her … she didn't like that. The scar was just a reminder of everything she had lost, and everything she could have had. It was nothing but a sign of the destruction of her what ifs.

Electra felt so alone.

When she was at the Dursleys, although she was living a nightmare, she felt somewhat content, she felt like someone was watching over her, like a guardian angel.

Right now, she felt empty.

Before she could ponder the feeling any longer, the compartment door slid open and the youngest redhead boy asked if he could sit with her.

They immediately hit it off; Ronald Weasley had five older brothers and a younger sister – and they spent the whole time eating sweets from the trolley while Electra explained about the muggles, and Ron explained about the magical world.

And even though, she found a friend in Ron and they laughed and spoke for hours, enjoying his company immensely; Electra still felt lonely.

It wasn't until the compartment door opened again, admitting the blonde ponce with the pale and pointed face that she had met in Diagon Alley at Madam Malkin's and two gorillas trailing behind him like bodyguards would, did the lonely and empty feeling go away.

Inhaling the fresh air, Electra smelt the familiar scent that had been impaled into her memory for as long as she could remember – vanilla, peppermint, summer and something purely masculine.

Electra felt cheerful again, she felt brave, and she felt confident.

Electra Amycate Potter knew her guardian angel was watching over her.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Thranduil appeared in a compartment in some moving transportation contraption – he didn't know which this time as he was only familiar with cars, motorcycles, bicycles and buses.

Looking around at his surroundings, he noticed Electra sitting next to a pile of sweets with a redhead boy in a similar situation, their eyes gazing at the glass door that had slid open admitting three boys.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes as he stared at the familiar brat that had been rude and uncouth in the marketplace, and he had two huge boys on either side of him – they looked more like guards then children.

He groaned as the uncouth boy opened his mouth.

"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Electra Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Electra, her eyes staring at each boy that stood on either side of him as a guard would.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," the boy said carelessly. "And my name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

 _Draco Malfoy? Crabbe? Goyle?_

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

What an uncouth boy! In Arda, a family is blessed if they are able to have more than two children; three was rare and Elrond was the exception. And here this little snot turned a blessing into an insult – something to mock!

He would definitely be going to the dungeons along with Electra's kin once he found a way.

Thranduil listened closely as the uncouth boy spoke to Electra after insulting the redhead, "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held out his hand.

Thranduil merely stared at the boy; he had been watching over Electra for ten years now, and he knew that she would never befriend him – no, what _astounded_ him, was that she had only met him twice, and all he had done was insult her friends to her face.

He's either incredibly dimwitted or not subtle at all – personally, Thranduil was leaning towards the first choice.

"I have met you twice, and all you had done was whine and grate on my nerves, insulting my friends _both_ times! And you want to be friends? Are you round the bend? I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks. Now leave!"

Thranduil smiled fondly at Electra. … She had grown so much, her confidence level stunned him.

The boy's face turned slightly pink, "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Thranduil began stringing out many lewd Elvish curses at the top of his lungs. That-that! Uncouth couldn't describe him – how dare he speak of the dead, of the brave in such a despicable fashion.

He glared at the blonde and didn't tear his eyes from him until a grey, fat rat bit one of the buffoons on the finger when he tried to steal their sweets, making them run away.

 _Cowards couldn't even handle a rat_ , he inwardly scoffed.

Thranduil leaned against the glass pane, watching as a girl with huge bushy brown hair that made him wince; brown eyes and large front teeth scurried into their compartment and began nagging Electra and the redhead about fighting.

Not wanting to be rude – Thranduil couldn't help it – but the bushy-haired girl grated on his nerves; perhaps it was the horrid hair, or maybe it was her know-it-all voice, or perhaps the air she radiated saying that she thought she was better than everyone else.

They arrived at the school as the _train_ – it was called a train. Thranduil wondered how many transportation methods this world had.

Looking at the castle, Thranduil was in awe. Not even Rivendell's beauty compared to it.

Hogwarts had astounding beauty that cannot be compared to anything he had ever seen in all of Arda.

He kept a close eye on Electra as she clambered into those tiny boats with the redhead, the bushy-haired girl and a boy that was sniffling.

Thranduil watched as the sniffling boy beamed when the giant found his pet … toad.

 _What was with these people? A dragon as a pet? A toad as a pet? And the redhead had a rat!_

He could understand the owls; it was common to have any sort of bird as a pet.

Thranduil stood to the side as the giant knocked three times on the castle door with his gigantic fists, swinging open at once by the same stern woman he had seen a decade ago … the one that turned into a cat.

After a long speech given by the cat-lady, Thranduil learned that each student would be sorted into four houses named after the four founders who created the very school; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff; Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

Whatever house they were sorted into would be like their family. Triumphs earned house points, rule-breaking and you would lose points; and at the end of the year the house with the most points would be awarded with the House cup.

Thranduil thought that he was done getting shocked, but that was _before_ a group of ghosts _arguing_ floated in above the students.

 _Ghosts! Of course, why not, why wouldn't there be ghosts._

This world will never cease to surprise him.

Thranduil then walked into a giant hall filled with thousands of floating candles, five tables laid with glittering golden plates and goblets, and when Thranduil looked above at where the ceiling should be, he was speechless.

It was velvety black and dotted with stars.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_ ," the bushy-haired girl said.

Thranduil stared dumbstruck as the hat began to sing; really he shouldn't be surprised – why _wouldn't_ there be a singing hat, quite ordinary really.

Listening to the singing hat, he caught on that Gryffindor was known to be the house of the bold, brave and chivalrous; Hufflepuff was the house of the loyal, unprejudiced and had morals; Ravenclaw was the house of the wise and smart; and Slytherin was the house of the cunning, sly and ambitious.

Thranduil never believed that he would ever utter the words, 'he learned something from a singing hat,' but he did.

When the hat finished singing, the whole hall broke into applause, and Thranduil observed as the stern cat-lady began calling out names from a long roll of parchment.

Apparently, the singing hat was called the sorting hat; one must put the hat on, it would see your qualities and sort the students where they belong.

 _Ridiculous. Children change as they grow; when they mature, so do their personalities._

Thranduil smiled slightly when Electra was sorted into Gryffindor, of course he knew her to have all the qualities of the houses.

She was ambitious, never aiming for low and she had a cunning streak to her. She was very smart, he recalled all the good grades she got and the cunning way she hid her true scores from her _kin_. He knew her to be loyal from what he had seen when she defended the giant and the redhead to the uncouth blonde.

Gryffindor however, yes, Thranduil could see it. She was incredibly brave. One had to be to have gone through everything she did, and live through without having lost your sanity or turning into a weak, sniveling ingrate.

She would make a great and brave warrior.

Thranduil noticed that the bushy-haired girl, the boy with the toad, and the redhead joined her in Gryffindor, while the uncouth blonde and his two buffoons sat in the Slytherin table.

Thranduil listened attentively to the conversation going around Electra, and when the ghost for her house appeared, Thranduil was horror-stricken.

The headless ghost; he merely seized his left ear and pulled, causing his head to swing off his neck and fall onto his shoulder! Thranduil did not know _how many times_ someone tried to behead him, but either they were not very good at it, or they had a blunt axe. His head was held onto his neck by just the tiniest but of sinew- Thranduil couldn't help but shudder; he would definitely be showing Galadriel this.

When they spoke of the Slytherin ghost, Thranduil hoped that it would not be another horrifying sight; the ghost had blank staring eye, a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood.

Thranduil listened with barely concealed shock as the boy with the toad – Neville, began blathering about his family. What was wrong with the kin of this world? His great-uncle nearly killed him plenty of times.

The Valar needed to do something about them, or whoever was in charge of this world, it was honestly preposterous.

The old man, Dumbledore, stood up to make a speech. The forest was forbidden, blah, blah, blah, however the end of his speech caught Thranduil's attention and he gawked at the Headmaster in a very un-royal manner.

"I must tell you that this year; the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a painful death."

Ignoring the horrendous school song, Thranduil examined Electra – she better stay _away_ from that third-floor corridor.

And as the students all headed over to their houses, Thranduil woke up from a restful sleep.

 **A/N:** **We finally reached Hogwarts! Now I have a question for you all; it's more like a poll.**

 **Ron is definitely one of Electra's best friends; who would you prefer Electra to be best friends with? It doesn't have to be Ron and someone else; it could be more than one person. Should I have them be friends with Hermione? What about Neville? Or should I leave Neville to show up more during the 5** **th** **book?**

 **One more note, in this story Electra is very smart; there was a hint about it last chapter, she didn't let the Dursleys influence her grade. The sorting hat was stuck between Gryffindor, Slytherin AND Ravenclaw – but her bravery won out in the end.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 6:**

Thranduil felt excited; he couldn't wait to slumber and observe Electra at Hogwarts. He knew a part of him was enthusiastic and curious to observe the other world practice magic and what limits they have, but the other part, the more dominant part was eager to watch the little human girl that had managed to snag his attention.

The little slip of a girl had succeeded in capturing his attention and he felt more than obligated to look after her. Now that she was away from her despicable kin, he was curious to watch her in her true element – Electra would now be able to be proud of her results and build up confidence.

That night, like so many nights before, Thranduil found himself looming over the little redheaded girl with such entrancing emerald eyes. He watched in awe as she wandered around the castle; it was simply magnificent – more so than Rivendell, Lothlórien and his Kingdom, the Woodland Realm combined.

He let out an undignified yelp unfit for a King of his stature, when the staircase moved by itself, nearly making little Electra fall off balance if she hadn't held onto the rail tightly. Looking up, he gaped at the sight of over a hundred stairways, and he wondered just exactly how big this castle was … this school was.

He stared in wonder at all the young Istaris walking around, and for the millionth time since he began having dreams of the curious girl, he pondered how powerful this world truly was to have so many children Istaris alone. If the numbers of children were so high, then how many adult Istaris were there?

All King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm knew, was that their measly five in Arda looked pathetic compared to this world's capacity.

Thranduil was a tad bit confused when he observed Electra Potter walk out of a portrait depicting a rotund lady with a boy and a girl. The boy was familiar to him, and he recalled him as the plump boy with the toad from the other night; the boy whose family nearly killed him for the sake of ensuring he had magic running through his veins.

The girl to Electra's right however, he was completely unfamiliar with. He hadn't seen her on the long snake-like contraption to Hogwarts, or when they were dining after the hat sorted them.

The girl had dirty wavy blonde hair, a round face, and baby blue eyes that resembled a mixture of starlight and water in its rippling effect. She had a smile plastered on her face and from what Thranduil could see, she had a very lively personality, and he found that it would be healthy for her presence to be around Electra.

Thranduil was curious as to why the redhead boy that had attached himself to her person the previous day wasn't walking by her side.

He noticed the three children were taking the familiar path to where they had dined last night; Thranduil recognized the confusing directions, as his kingdom was disorienting as well, and it wasn't too difficult to lose your way and go astray; King Thranduil had an impeccable sense of direction.

Thranduil scowled upon hearing the bothersome whisperings of the surrounding children as soon as Electra walked by them. Hissing in loud, carrying voices and pointing fingers in such a despicable manner at Electra Potter.

He nodded approvingly when the blonde girl looped an arm through Electra in a form of camaraderie, and when the boy with the toad threw glares at the ill-mannered whisperers.

He frowned in worriment when Electra barely put any large portions on her plate for breakfast; living through a decade of starvation makes one accustomed to devouring small amounts; hopefully with regular meals and a large selection, Electra would begin digesting more.

He witnessed her first class with the strict cat lady, McGonagall; it was apparently called Transfiguration where the Istaris were educated in transforming objects. He listened with barely concealed enthusiasm as the cat lady began her lesson with a well-said speech.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned." The cat lady then proceeded to take out her wand and transform her desk into a _pig_ before reversing it back into the desk.

How mind-boggling; Mithrandir and Elrond would be fascinated by this.

Thranduil listened to the excited murmurs and the passionate glimmer in Electra's emerald eyes at the certain show of magic, which dimmed slightly when the cat lady informed them that it was a very complicated branch of Transfiguration and that they wouldn't perform them until higher years. Instead, they were to change a match into a silver needle.

Thranduil felt pride swell in his cold and bitter heart when Electra managed to perform the spell correctly and with such accuracy during her second try into the lesson. He watched her beam when the cat lady awarded her twenty points and informed her that her father, James Potter, was incredibly skilled in Transfiguration as well.

He scowled upon witnessing the bushy-haired beaver glare at Electra with jealousy, and ignored her for the sake of observing Electra help the boy with the toad; Neville and the blonde girl, who he discovered her name to be Lavender, perform the spell. Lavender managed to make a few changes to her match, turning it silver, while the poor boy hadn't succeeded the least bit.

He smiled fondly when Electra wasn't the least bit deterred by the boy's dismal performance, instead feeding him words of encouragement for the future.

 _Yes, Electra Potter managed to befriend two good ones._

An amusing class he observed was Charms. The professor was a tiny little thing who had to stand on a pile of books over his desk to be seen by the students, and he had such a good-natured personality. Thranduil's crystal blue eyes sparkled with amusement when the tiny professor squeaked loudly and fell off his desk when uttering Electra's name during the roll-call.

Once a week, Thranduil attended the Astronomy class with Electra and her two friends during midnight as they studied the stars and planets through their telescopes, learning the names of each one.

Thranduil couldn't help but notice that the skies of this world differed greatly from Arda's. Such a curious phenomenon that something as vast and permanent as the sky could differ as well in both worlds – something he knew that Lady Galadriel would take an interest in.

A dumpy kind witch taught Electra and her classmates Herbology, which he found to be the study of magical plants. During her lessons, they had to learn how to take care of the strangest plants and fungi he had ever seen while they study their uses. Thranduil smiled upon noticing that the boy, Neville, excelled in this class, which was a good change, and he watched fondly as he helped out the two girls.

Thranduil know that Elrond would be fascinated and interested in Herbology since he was Arda's best healer and grew many plants in his greenhouse to help with healing.

However, not all lessons were interesting. Thranduil was fascinated with the history of their world, heeding the difference between the goblins of this world, and the goblins of Middle Earth, and he took note of every word uttered so that he could relay the information to Mithrandir, Elrond and Lady Galadriel. If only the professor wasn't such a droning bore.

A ghost actually taught the subject of History of Magic; Thranduil was astonished when he heard the tale of Binns – he had apparently been very old in age, and had fallen asleep in the staff room when he awoke the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind.

The children could not manage to keep themselves awake during his class, and it was a miracle in itself if they lasted five minutes. The old man really should consider hiring a new instructor otherwise they shall all fail dismally in history, which was a very important subject.

The professor with the turban was a complete failure, unable to utter a sentence without stuttering, grating on his nerves. He bore many tales that was clearly all bogus about how he had been gifted the very turban he wore from an African – whatever that was, Prince, and when the students would ask for more details on his fight with a … _zombie_? He turned bashful and began blathering on and on about the weather.

However, witnessing Electra's first week at Hogwarts, an event had to happen that brought out his ire.

The greasy, hook-nosed professor that instructed Potion-making was an abhorrent man, and Thranduil found himself adding another to his list of prisoners he would like to lock up in his dungeons.

He listened in fascination to his speech at the beginning of the lesson, and had liked what he heard, thinking that this professor may be strict, but at least he was a professional.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect any of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of simmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper to death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Thranduil snarled at that; you do not call children on their first potion class names, it was hardly professional, and Thranduil could do nothing but observe as the hateful man harassed Electra Potter, asking her questions that she had yet to study.

Apparently, the abhorrent professor had a relationship with the uncouth boy as he showered him with absurd compliments that he did not deserve in the least bit. He ignored them for the sake of Electra who had partnered with Lavender, and he couldn't help but smile upon noticing that they both excelled in the subject.

However, poor Neville did not have the same luck as his potion exploded, showering the whole class who had to stand on their stools so they did not risk burning themselves as it seeped through the stone floor.

A rightful and professional instructor would have sent the child for medical attention and then proceed to explain what his mistakes were; however, the repugnant man was no certified professor by any means in Thranduil's opinion. He swooped over the boy, and proceeded to berate and insult him before placing the blame on Electra who had been minding her own potion – he did not deem to congratulate her on her successful potion, instead, he had taken points from her.

Electra Potter had such a kind soul, that all she could do was stare at the professor with sad eyes, leaving the classroom with Lavender to check on Neville who was receiving medical care.

Such humans should not be around children, and were not fit to teach. Why, if his son, Legolas, had such an instructor, he would administer said instructor to a lifetime down in the dungeons; at such a young age, children's minds were malleable, they need to be treated with kindness, care and assurance, otherwise there would be a kink in their personality and could grow up to be damaged, with little to no self-esteem.

Thranduil's heart went out to the redheaded girl who didn't have family or considerate kin to send her letters from home or treats, and he was thankful for the giant, Hagrid. The three friends made their way over to his hut, while he followed closely behind, and observed them get along.

Hagrid was kind to her friends, and by the end of their visit, the four grew close with promises of many future visits to come; however, Thranduil had an ominous feeling when he observed Electra piecing the mystery of the bank that had been broken into. She was a sharp girl, and it took her no time at all to discover whatever the thief tried to pillage, what had been taken by the giant himself on her first visit to the bank.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

"So, Thranduil, do inform us of young Electra's performance at that magic school," inquired Mithrandir.

Thranduil sat among Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and Mithrandir, rehashing about all he had seen and witnessed of her first week at the mesmerizing castle. Of course, he had opened his mind to Lady Galadriel, who took the invitation with poise and a graceful smile as she observed everything Thranduil had bore witness to.

"Incredible. Simply marvelous," Lady Galadriel gasped once she was done.

"Are you certain a desk was transformed into a pig?" Lord Elrond's eyes sparkled with interest and Mithrandir shared said fascination.

"Oh, yes. Thranduil speaks of nothing but the truth. Their branch of magic is quite powerful," Lady Galadriel assured them.

"There are thousands of Istari in their world. The castle is littered with children. Just children. It makes you wonder how many adult Istaris there are to conceive such a great number," breathed Thranduil in awe.

"The Valar has gifted us with five. It seems they did not deem it great need to present us with more," Lord Elrond mused.

"And goblins are civilized? They bear no harm to the race of men and Istaris alike?" Mithrandir pressed.

"Correct. They don uniforms, and are devoted to caring for the Istari's riches, keeping their valuables safe. I noticed that the one-time Electra entered the bank, the goblins subtly respect her greatly; she seems to be of nobility," Thranduil informed them.

"Curious," murmured Lady Galadriel. "They are no kin to the goblins of Middle Earth … nothing alike whatsoever."

"Just like the Istaris of Earth differ from us five," added Mithrandir.

"There is a repugnant man that instructs the children of the art of potion-making. According to his speech, he could teach them to brew glory, bottle fame, ensnare the senses, bewitch the minds and even put a stopper to death," repeated Thranduil verbatim.

" _A stopper to death_? Are you quite certain he wasn't being arrogant?" asked Elrond in a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Oh no, I am quite certain he was speaking truthfully," rebutted Thranduil.

"What of the ghosts?" asked Lady Galadriel.

Mithrandir and Lord Elrond gaped at him, "Ghosts?"

"Dark sorcery," spat Mithrandir.

"No, no, nothing of the sort," Lady Galadriel calmly assured them.

"They are a jovial bunch. Apparently they would not move on to the afterlife and so, they spend an eternity roaming around the castle and helping the children. There is even one that is an instructor of history," scoffed Thranduil.

"How baffling. They contradict the very laws of nature," Mithrandir mused, stroking his beard.

"Yes, hopefully the more Thranduil observes, the more we can comprehend and finally understand the nature of his dreams," Lady Galadriel spoke in a mystical voice, her eyes twinkling knowingly, and once again Mithrandir caught on, but said nothing.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

The following week, Thranduil observed Electra closely; he found her friends to be amusing to watch over as well since they never left Electra's side.

Neville was a bumbling boy with low self-esteem, had a clumsy nature and was very forgetful, always in need of the two girls to remind him of his schoolwork and the password to their dormitory. However, he was loyal to the core and was very caring and protective to the two girls despite his shy mannerisms, and was quite ingenious in Herbology.

The blonde, Lavender on the other hand, was a complete opposite. She was very feminine and held a fondness to gossip and fashion. Often at times, Thranduil would ponder what drew the girl to the two down-to-earth children, and upon watching them together, he concluded that she had a protective streak and was very confident, holding her own against others who deem it their right to bully Neville or hound Electra. She also tried to impart confidence to the other two and Thranduil found her to be an outstanding friend.

The uncouth boy however, was so vulgar and despicable; marching along with his two buffoons like he owned the place and strutted around with confidence only due to his father's name.

Thranduil observed as the uncouth boy snatched a glass ball from Neville, a gift he had gotten from his grandmother apparently, and it was called a Remembrall – if it turned red, it meant you have forgotten something – such a marvelous creation.

Electra and Lavender wasted no time in standing up for their shy friend when the cat lady walked in on them, stopping a fight from happening.

They proceeded to move on outdoors where a woman with silver hair and yellow eyes had them stand along broomsticks and learn how to fly. This was something Thranduil had been looking forward to – the fact that a tool for cleaning could be used for flying was incredible, something that shocked Mithrandir and Elrond to the core … it took a lot to surprise Lady Galadriel, who had taken the news splendidly well.

Thranduil felt pride when Electra's meager-looking broom was summoned into her hand in an instant. He felt fear and worriment when Neville's broom took a life of its own, knocking him down from the sky.

Thranduil stared in exasperation when the flying instructor escorted Neville to the medical wing, imparting the students who held a deep rivalry with one another, a threat not to touch their brooms; leaving over twenty children alone. That daft instructor; he couldn't believe she left them alone, especially with the enmity they bore.

Thranduil glared maliciously at the uncouth boy as she grabbed the Remembrall and provoked Electra into getting it from him in the air, knowing very well that the girl had never flown in all her life.

The bushy-haired beaver, of course stuck her nose where it didn't belong, and even though he agreed with a few of her words, he did not deem her intentions to be true, merely selfish reasons. He watched in awe as Electra rode the broom like an expert would, looking as though she had been flying her whole life.

Thranduil was a mixture of proud and enraged; proud that she managed to capture her friend's possession with pure talent, and enraged because she was caught by the cat lady. However, events took an upturn when she merely assigned her onto the _Quidditch_ team.

"Your father would have been proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

Such few words … merely a few simple words brought a face-cracking smile on the little girl's face. Of course she would be thrilled of being just like the father she never knew; the father who died bravely for her survival.

Thranduil observed her eating a large portioned meal with gusto, all her bad habits escaping. Lavender and two identical redheads congratulated her, informing her that she was the youngest player in a century. This piece of information reminded him of the night he witnessed her parents death … the words of Lady Galadriel reverberated in his head, telling him that, after all she did survive death when there was no escape at the age of one; what else was the little girl capable of?

Thranduil groaned when the uncouth boy challenged her to a duel. Thranduil knew it to be similar to a duel of honor and once there was an agreement on both parts, there was to be no forfeit. Lavender pushed Electra to accept, not allowing her friend to be bullied by the uncouth boy and his buffoons.

The girls were worried for their shy friend who hadn't returned from the medical wing, yet they couldn't wait for him any longer otherwise they would find themselves tardy for the duel. However, the bushy-haired beaver wouldn't let up and followed them out the portrait.

A dullard wouldn't have missed the hatred Lavender shared in regards to the beaver; Thranduil sensed that Electra had such a kind and gentle soul, that she was unable to be rude to her, and so Lavender would communicate for the both of them regarding her constant unusual interferences.

Poor bumbling Neville turned out to be sleeping in front of the portrait since he had forgotten the password and accompanied the two girls to the duel, ignoring the beaver that trailed behind them, trying to stop them.

The despicable boy hadn't bothered to show up, instead, he sent for the caretaker and his nuisance of a cat to get them into trouble. They scurried away efficiently until they ran into the menace poltergeist, Peeves, who was a quandary in itself … he yelled at the top of his lungs, revealing their hiding place and Thranduil watched with dread as Electra used the unlocking charm on the forbidden corridor, the four terrified children locking themselves in.

 _A giant dog! A three-headed giant dog!_

What in Arda's green earth possessed the old headmaster to place such a monstrous creature in a school full of children? Thranduil got his answer when the four children returned to their dormitory in distress; Electra solved the mystery.

Apparently, whatever the thief was after, the package the giant had taken from the high-security vault was placed in the school, hidden under the trapdoor beneath the monster in the forbidden corridor.

Thranduil felt an ominous atmosphere in the air, and hoped against all odds, that Electra and her friends would have half a mind to stay far away from whatever danger lurked about.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

"A three-headed what now?" Lord Elrond stared at his friend in dubious shock.

"A three-headed dog, Elrond," snapped Thranduil.

"Are you positive?" Mithrandir gaped in disbelief.

"You tell me … _three_ heads, _three_ pair of rolling, mad eyes, _three_ noses twitching and quivering and _three_ drooling mouths, saliva in a slippery string from _three_ pairs of yellow fangs!" Thranduil burst out angrily.

" _By Eru_!" was all Lord Elrond could say.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Many a fortnight passed by, and Thranduil observed more of Electra Amycate Potter's caring nature.

She would gather her friends in the library and the three of them would practice their magic and write essays together, always educating themselves with random books and nurturing their minds with knowledge.

He observed as Electra would welcome fellow classmates with open arms and invite them to join the three's study group, where they all helped one another.

There was a pair of exotic looking twins – Parvati and Padma, three boys for the house of the wise, a girl with auburn hair, Susan and her blonde friend, Hannah and two other boys from the loyal house. From their house, a boy with a strong accent and a dark-skinned boy joined them; however, the green house didn't come forward to join at all.

The redhead boy didn't bother trying to show up, hating everything to do with education as he was a lazy and pig-headed boy and the bushy-haired beaver came once, but it was a unanimous decision to kick her out of the study group as she was very conceited, bossy and a know-it-all, who instead of studying and helping the others learn using the technique of teamwork, she would instead berate them and chastise them for not being as smart as her.

Some sort of holiday of theirs was coming up; _Hall-o-ween_ or something of the sort. While others were excited for it, Electra could be seen crying her little heart out in mourning as it was the day of her parents' death; the day where her life got torn apart.

Thranduil watched sadly as Neville and Lavender spent hours trying to cheer her up during breakfast, and he felt a heavy weight lift from him at the beginning formation of a smile on her cherubic face.

During Charms class, Thranduil watched in fascination as the students began levitating their feathers. Electra and Lavender managed to succeed a few minutes into class; while Neville managed it right before class had ended. The bushy-haired beaver began speaking to the redhead in a condescending manner causing him to yell at her and provoke an argument as he announced that she had no friends.

The feast for Halloween was interrupted when the professor wearing the absurd and lurid turban blasted in through the door yelling about trolls in the dungeon, and as the whole population of students began yelling in fear, the old man blasted fireworks through his wand giving the prefects the duty to lead their house safely into their dormitories while the teachers and himself would search for the troll.

Thranduil found himself curious about the nature of the trolls of this world. Goblins differed vastly … was it the same for trolls?

It turned out that Thranduil would be finding out for himself as Electra, Lavender and Neville ran to the powder room where they heard the bushy-haired beaver had been crying all day. Even though they disliked her greatly, they didn't want her death on their conscious.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes upon witnessing the repugnant, greasy, hook-nosed professor heading over to the third floor and filed the information away to ponder on later. His eyes widened when he laid eyes on the troll; it was huge and had a distasteful smell.

Thranduil's heart threatened to leap out of its place when Electra clambered over the trolls head, her wand engorging itself into its nostrils; Lavender was trying to get the foolish girl to stand up and leave the powder room, but she cowered frozen in place with wide eyes, risking their safety even more.

Neville on the other hand, clearly shouted the first spell from the top of his head, " _Wingardium Leviosa,_ " and miraculously, the troll's club lifted from its hand and dropped onto its head, making it sway and crash onto the floor, unconscious.

 _Remarkable_! Children managing to best a troll. Elrond, Mithrandir and Galadriel would be a mixture of thrilled and awe, if not disbelief. Fully trained warriors couldn't escape from a troll unscathed.

The bushy-haired beaver covered for the three and the cat lady berated her, taking away points from her and demanded that she return to her dormitory. She handed out five points apiece to the three brave children and sent them off as well.

Electra Potter, and now her friends, would not fail to surprise Thranduil with each day. Yet why was the repugnant professor heading over to the forbidden corridor?

Thranduil felt an ominous feeling in the air, and he feared for the safety of Electra. He found himself worried for what he would be witnessing next, however, Electra never failed in astonishing him and bringing out a smile on his usually stern and cold face, warming his cold long-dead heart, and presenting him with feelings other than bitterness.

 **A/N:** **So, I thought about the direction my story was going and decided to go completely off-base from cannon. Ron is somehow a prat most times and is very jealous while Electra has the purest and kindest heart. She needs faithful friends and not jealous ones; Neville is loyal to a T, and I decided to write in Lavender as the Hermione replacement since she is more fun, has more confidence and is not an annoying know-it-all.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 7:**

Once again, the Elven Kingdom were scurrying around the palace, avoiding their King to the best of their abilities; King Thranduil was in another one of his moods, and it was terrifying to be in his sights or line of fire.

His crystal blue eyes would set ablaze and he would bark out orders, he even succeeded in reducing two of his servants to tears, and the job was left to Prince Legolas to apologize for his Ada's behavior.

Legolas decided to postpone confronting his father on the subject of his lover; if he was in a raging mood due to the mysterious elleth then Legolas wanted nothing more than to avoid him and the subject altogether.

But of course, Legolas Greenleaf was wrong on so many levels.

King Thranduil was not furious because of an elleth. No. King Thranduil was outraged at Electra Potter's near death experience he had witnessed in his dreams last night.

How many Istaris wanted that poor, innocent girl dead? How incompetent was the old man in charge of the school?

Last night, Thranduil observed Electra's first Quidditch match against Slytherin, and the snakes played cruelly. They reveled in harming the lions and there were many 'penalties' given to the snakes for their unjust and underhanded tactics.

Thranduil enjoyed watching fourteen Istaris fly around on broomsticks; he was in awe with their grace and flexibility in the air. Mostly, he enjoyed watching Electra's emerald green eyes sparkle with exhilaration, her ruby red hair getting windswept with the speed she flew in and the musical laugh bubbling from her delicate mouth in joy.

That was until her broom began bucking on its own and out of little Electra's control. Thranduil was forced to watch the joy leave her eyes only to be replaced by utter fear.

He recalled the way his heart jolted, thumping loudly when Electra swung off her broom due to a violent jerk, and she held on for dear life with one small hand on the broom handle, dangling below and very close to falling to her death.

Thranduil could do nothing but watch with fearful eyes, and he hated his position more than ever; he was no more than an observer, an observer cursed with watching the vivacious girl stumble along life and struggle with death and danger every night he released his subconscious into Earth.

He felt hope when Electra's broom halted in its incessant jerking, and Electra swung back safely onto her broom, only to falter once again when she zoomed after the snitch and tumbled onto the ground. His eyes widening in shock when it turned out that she wasn't harmed, but had mistakenly swallowed the snitch, succeeding in winning the game for her house.

Thranduil followed Electra, Neville and Lavender as they visited the giant after the game instead of celebrating, and he felt anger overtake him when Lavender and Neville informed them that it was the hook-nosed professor that was cursing her broomstick.

Apparently Lavender, the ingenious girl, recognized it to be dark magic spelled on Electra's broom, something that only an adult could cast successfully, and she kept her eyes on the professors. It was at that moment the girl noticed the horrid man mumbling nonstop under his breath, and the two friends hatched a plan to distract him long enough for Electra to land safely.

Lavender had a _Dungbomb_ … which apparently was an object used for pranks. Once released, it would explode and a revolting and nauseating smell would emanate from it. She had dashed over to the professor's stand and set it off under the hook-nosed man's seat before retreating quickly to her rightful place, and therefore not be blamed.

The blonde girl had saved Electra Potter's life, and Thranduil once again smiled at her good choice in friends.

However, the fool of a giant accidentally blurted out a clue about _Fluffy_ ; the three-headed dog was his _pet_! The giant was an utter fool – first he wanted a dragon of all things and now Thranduil discovered he kept a vicious pet and named it Fluffy!?

Thranduil groaned inwardly when the three curious first years perked up at the name … _Nicolas Flamel_ ; the clue to finding out what was underneath the trapdoor, under that vicious monster.

 _This_ , was the actual reason why the Woodland Realm was avoiding their furious King; King Thranduil wanted nothing more than to behead that filthy professor for nearly succeeding in killing the bein hên that was beginning to win over the bitter King's heart.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Winter had approached in the Woodland Realm, and the elves were excitedly looking forward for the winter ball that King Thranduil always threw in the halls of the palace for all the elves and elleths of his kingdom to enjoy a night of dancing and celebration.

King Thranduil however was in another world, curiously watching its occupants celebrate 'Christmas'. Like Halloween, Christmas was another holiday to these Istaris, one where they had pine trees decorated with baubles and holly, one where they decorated the palace halls with wreaths and _mistletoe?_ and one where the young Istaris left the castle to spend a fortnight with their families.

Thranduil watched sadly as Electra Potter instantly signed her name to stay over during the holidays since her kin never allowed her to join in for the festivities. However, Thranduil smiled when Lavender decided to remain at the castle with her best friend, giving out the excuse that her parents were traveling _France_ to visit her brother and pregnant wife.

France it turned out, was another city of such in this world; Thranduil did not try to comprehend how big Earth actually was in comparison to Arda.

Also, the redhead brothers were remaining in the castle as their parents and young sister traveled to _Romania_ to visit their brother as well; Thranduil was baffled as to how many different cities existed.

Electra found a kinship in the twin redheads who were on the Quidditch team with her, and the two girls spent the holidays running around the castle with them and frolicking around the snow throwing balls of snow at one another. Those twins, Fred and George very much reminded Thranduil of Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond's twin sons and firstborns.

Thranduil reveled in the musical laughter that erupted from the emerald-eyed girl. However, his mood deteriorated upon finding out that little Electra didn't anticipate presents the next day.

When she woke up for Christmas day, Thranduil felt a fond smile tug around the corner of his lips when Electra jumped onto her bed and beamed at the small mountain of presents laid out. The twin redhead's mother had gifted her with an emerald green hand-made sweater matching her eyes. Lavender received a red one as well … Thranduil pondered at the kind-hearted mother, the Race of Men were much different compared to Arda.

What baffled Thranduil was a strange package she had received with a curious note; ' _Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very Merry Christmas to you.'_

A cloak that made the wearer invisible … and Thranduil had thought he had seen it all. Even the Elven cloaks given by Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel at Lothlórien could not make the wearer completely invisible; the Elven cloaks only acted as a camouflage against unfriendly eyes.

 _Yes, the Lady Galadriel would definitely be interested in this Invisibility Cloak._

Thranduil's heart went out to the orphan girl when she stumbled upon a peculiar mirror; he felt his heart crumble when pearly, fat tears leaked from her eyes when she looked into the mirror and for the first time ever, witnessed her parents.

Legolas at least had him; no matter how cold, bitter and unyielding he was Legolas still had an Adar in his life. Electra Potter had no one, and she had to wait a decade to set eyes upon her parents for the first time.

Thranduil feared for the girl when her demeanor began to change and her obsession for the mirror increased with each passing day. The third night however, Albus Dumbledore sat in the corner waiting for Electra and Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief when he warned her not to return.

"You like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised." _The Mirror of Erised?_ What a curious name.

Thranduil listened carefully as the old man explained the Mirror's purpose, something he had been wondering for two nights in a row. "The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Yes, it did. The mirror showed your desire. An enchanted mirror, unlike The Mirror of Galadriel; The Mirror of Galadriel would show the viewer things that were, and things that are, and things that yet may be.

"It shows us what we want … whatever we want …" Electra guessed. Thranduil sighed, shaking his head; not quite, bein hên.

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly, "It shows us nothing more than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."

Thranduil understood the headmaster's warning plain and clear; he knew that if he gazed upon the mirror, he would see his beloved Lainathiel, alive and by his side ruling as his Queen. Him, Lainathiel and Legolas would be happy, they would be a family. Thranduil knew it would take more than the fire of Mordor to pull him away from the enchanted mirror.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Electra, and I must ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

The old man was wise; Thranduil felt obligated to listen to his advice and stop dwelling for his Lainathiel, but he was apparently not strong enough.

Thranduil snorted, his thoughts abruptly snapped back to the present once Electra asked the old man what he saw when he looked into the mirror, and when the old man answered him holding a pair of socks.

Thranduil could clearly see the fondness and love in the old man's bright blue eyes, and once again, thoughts of her kin took precedence in his mind … did the old man know how her kin treated her? The love that shone from his eyes was unmistakable, and Thranduil did not believe he would allow her to dwell in such a place if he had an inkling.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Days passed by and Thranduil observed the three friends search day and night for this illusive Nicolas Flamel.

Thranduil fumed when the captain of the Quidditch team informed Electra that the hook-nosed man would be umpiring the next game, and Thranduil felt fear for what he might do during the game to the bein hên.

It was on that particular night while Electra and Lavender were discussing the following game, that Neville stumbled into the common room, and he looked to have been under a jinx. Thranduil joined the girls in fuming over the uncouth boy who had dastardly cursed the clumsy boy, having him stumble all the way to the girls.

Electra, having a kind and gentle soul, gave him her last chocolate frog, and it was then that they were victorious in uncovering the secret of who Nicolas Flamel was; he was on the card for Albus Dumbledore.

Nicolas Flamel was the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone; it was a study of alchemy, and this Stone had astonishing powers; it could transform metal into pure gold and produces the Elixir of Life, which made the drinker immortal.

Such creation, such magic; Thranduil was astounded yet again, and when he discussed the Stone with the Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and Mithrandir, they were flabbergasted and speechless – and for Galadriel, that was rare.

The Race of Men could achieve immortality, and that was unknown and unheard of in Arda. Elves where the only known immortal beings, yet this genius Istari had accomplished the impossible.

Thankfully, the hook-nosed teacher did not set to harm Electra during the game. Electra reasoned it was due to the old man, who had showed up to watch the match, ensuring her safety and Thranduil agreed. However, Electra let her curiosity get the best of her, and she followed the hook-nosed man into the forest on the air, and overheard him threatening the man with the lurid, purple turban about getting past the beast.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

"A DRAGON ELROND! A FIRE-BREATHING SERPENT!" Thranduil roared.

Elrond and Thranduil were on their own that day; Elrond was visiting the Woodland Realm with his daughter Arwen, and Thranduil wasted no time in ushering him into the Halls of Thranduil and bellowing at the top of his lungs about his previous visit to the other world.

"Are you quite positive," Elrond gasped; Thranduil knew it wasn't the fact that Elrond didn't believe him, but that he was shell-shocked.

"Yes. Apparently it is called a Norwegian Ridgeback … where they come up with such names, I shall never know. I watched it hatch from an egg in the dimwitted giant's cabin Elrond, it was horrendous! It was jet black with spiny wings that were huge compared to its skinny form. It had a long snout and wide nostrils with horns and orange eyes. And listen to this," Thranduil snorted humorlessly, "the giant called it beautiful."

"What an absurd man. And the three children watched the whole event take place?" Elrond inquired nervously.

"The whole thing. They are spending all their nights convincing the utter fool to let the dragon loose, but he cried that it was only a baby. _A baby_ , Elrond. With every passing day, it grows twice its size. Oh, the giant calls himself its mommy," Thranduil scoffed.

"If that doesn't prove the man to be crazy, then nothing else would. What would possess him to get a dragon as a pet? Now, probably dragons of that world are different in comparison to the ones residing in Arda, but that does not make them any less dangerous," Elrond breathed out in shock.

"The boy, Neville, he got bit by the dragon. The giant yelled at the _child_ for _frightening_ the _dragon_. Thank Eru the boy went directly to the healing ward and had the matron heal his finger; it was a poisonous bite," Thranduil informed Elrond exasperatedly, slouching down on his throne in a manner unbefitting for a king.

"A poisonous dragon? That's new. Could it speak?" asked Elrond curiously.

"Not a word," Thranduil sighed, "You are correct in your assumption of the dragons in Earth differing from Arda."

"How so?"

"The three young Istaris asked the twin boys for help; apparently one of their brothers study dragons in some city called Romania … it is some sort of dragon encampment," said Thranduil.

" _Interesting_. That proves there are many dragons in their world, unlike Arda, where they are rapidly declining," Elrond's voice was filled with wonderment.

"It is of no loss. We are better off without those accursed creatures. Plundering for gold and wrecking our lands, killing left and right," Thranduil growled, his hand reflexively lingering onto the left side of his face that was glamoured to hide his burns from dragon-fire.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Thranduil watched sadly as the three friends were caught after having given over the wretched dragon to the twin redheads' brother's friends at the astronomy tower at midnight. The uncouth boy was already caught by the cat lady when he tried to ambush the three friends earlier.

The cat lady berated them and took away fifty points each, and then doled out detention.

Thranduil cussed the cat lady for her harsh disciplining. Electra could be seen crying at irregular hours due to the population of Istaris at Hogwarts. The yellow house and the house of the eagles bullied the three friends for losing a hundred and fifty points since they were looking forward to seeing the house of snakes lose the house cup.

The snakes applauded them crudely; but what astounded Thranduil was the behavior of the lions. The lions alienated the three friends for losing those points and Thranduil found himself disappointed.

The night of their detention, Thranduil followed them to the giant's cabin. The disturbing man who owned the grungy cat wouldn't stop blathering about hanging them by their thumbs in the dungeons, something that repulsed Thranduil, and left him horrified.

 _Unicorns_ … what on earth was a unicorn?

Thranduil listened attentively as the giant instructed them on their purpose; they were to go into the forest and find the injured unicorn. Thranduil examined the puddle of blood, and found unicorn blood to be a peculiar thing – it was a silvery colored substance, quite the opposite to the gruesome black of orcs.

The giant split them up into groups; he would go one way with Electra and Lavender, while Neville would go with the uncouth boy and the dog … Thranduil felt pity for Neville.

During their trek into the forest, Thranduil was rendered speechless upon settling his eyes onto … _centaurs?_ … centaurs apparently where half-men, half-horse; they had the body of a man until their waist, and instead of legs, they had the body of a horse with four legs and a tail.

Centaurs would blather on and on about the planets, the heavens and what was foretold … _mars is bright tonight_ … that was repeatedly spoken by the two centaurs they had run into.

Thranduil felt fear trickle his spine when red sparks erupted into the air, signaling that Neville was in trouble … it may seem harsh and heartless, but Thranduil found himself uncaring to the wellbeing of the uncouth boy.

After waiting for many long minutes, the giant returned with the dog and the two boys; it turned out, the uncouth boy snuck behind Neville and grabbed him as a jest. This caused Hagrid to change the groups, and Thranduil fumed when Electra was assigned to walk with the uncouth boy.

But he grudgingly agreed with the giant. The uncouth boy would have trouble trying to scare Electra.

Of course, Electra would be the one to have a run-in with whatever was harming the unicorns.

Thranduil gaped at the beautiful sight …unicorns were lovely … they were an equine creature, pure, bright white in color with a single horn on its forehead … it resembled freshly fallen snow.

And it was dead.

A hooded figure crouched before it and from the sounds Thranduil heard with his impeccable hearing, the figure was drinking its blood. It was a ghastly sight and Thranduil felt sickened … yet he felt fear for the bein hên who was left alone after the cowardly dog and the uncouth boy fled for their lives.

Fear struck Thranduil when Electra collapsed, her face scrunched up in agony and her hand clutching her scar. Thank Eru, a centaur saved her from the figure who was approaching her.

The centaur looked younger with silver-blonde hair resembling and light blue eyes; he allowed Electra to sit on his back …. Firenze, that was the centaur's name.

The previous two centaurs stumbled upon them and raged at Firenze for allowing Electra to ride on his back … apparently it was despicable to ride aback centaurs like a common mule, and they ranted at Firenze for saving her life and interfering with the movements of the planets, making Thranduil snarl at them in rage.

"Electra Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?" Firenze asked, and Thranduil could see Electra ponder the answer, "No. We've only ever used the horn and tail hair in potions."

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," Thranduil listened closely to Firenze's words. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, from the blood touches your lips."

Thranduil gaped at the end of Firenze's speech … who would want such a life … who would be that desperate … unicorns were pure creatures, beacons of good, much like the eagles of Arda …

Thranduil breathed in a sharp intake of breath, and he felt his blood drain when Firenze informed Electra that Voldemort was the one drinking from the unicorn … Electra was close to her parent's killer, close to death once again.

The Dark Istari was alive and he was at Hogwarts.

 **A/N:** **Next chapter will be the last one for the Sorcerer's Stone. I hope you enjoyed this update.**

 **R &R.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 8:**

A fortnight had gone by since Thranduil witnessed the disturbing dream of Electra serving detention with her friends in the Forbidden Forest and he had not been pleased. Ever since that night, the King had been on edge and demanded nobody from his Realm disturb him unless there was a happenstance of utmost importance.

Thankfully, his dreams of late had been peaceful; Electra, Neville and Lavender have been able to keep the rabble-rousing to a minimum, and engaged themselves in the impressive library studying for the end of year tests.

He coordinated a meeting with Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir, and they had finally deemed him with their presence more than a fortnight since the troubling event occurred. There was a melancholy silence in his private quarters as King Thranduil regaled the events; he explained to the best of his ability what a unicorn was, the 'centaurs' and their ominous predictions. But it was the fact of the Dark Istari still being in the land of living that had the ire of the three, mutterings reverberating in the air.

Lady Galadriel couldn't help but visibly flinch when Thranduil allowed her access into his mind, sanctioning her to view the happenings that transpired in the forest.

"So, the Dark Istari, Lord Voldemort still lives," Mithrandir inquired nervously, his wizened face drawn in concern as he smoked on his pipe in worriment, not noticing that it had long gone out during his pondering.

"Yes," Thranduil let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I did not luck out with garnering a good look of his face; he was a hooded finger, drinking the blood of a fallen unicorn."

"Remarkable; from what your description informs us, these unicorns are a symbol of light and pureness, a symbol of peace," Elrond said in awe; he did not know why he was surprised; Earth had marvelous creations, unlike Arda, and Elrond actually found himself looking forward to these regular congregations.

"According to Firenze, the young centaur, to drink the blood of a unicorn, a creature so pure, it would give you a half-life, but a cursed life. Unicorn blood can bring you back from the brink of death," Thranduil exposed, repeating verbatim.

Lady Galadriel sorrowfully shook her head, her lips pursed, "But at a horrible cost. Nothing is worth living a cursed life. This Dark Istari's evil-doing knows no bound, mellon nin."

"I fear what his next executed actions shall be," Thranduil sighed worriedly. "I grow weary of these dreams, mellon nin," he suddenly confided in them, drawing himself apprehensive looks, "To stand aside and perform nothing, unable to hand out aid, it tires me greatly."

Lady Galadriel placed a soothing hand over Thranduil's, a soft smile on her face, "You are strong, mellon nin, King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. Have faith in the Valar and their doing."

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Over the course of the next passing days, Thranduil witnessed the trio accomplish their tests to their greatest abilities. Thranduil's eyes lit up with mirth when the cat professor warned the Gryffindors that they will be given special quills for their tests, bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell, and he didn't fail to miss out the glum expressions on the redheaded twins' faces – something he believed to be a yearly ritual.

Thranduil proudly beamed when Electra went through every test extraordinarily, answering the written examinations with deft prowess and casting brilliantly for the practical ones.

Lavender was proficient as well, though not as competent as Electra, Thranduil was positive in his observations that the two girls would pass with brilliant results. However, poor Neville wasn't achieving his greatest abilities, and he pitied the poor boy. Thranduil knew that the boy was a remarkable Istari; however, he had no confidence – hopefully, the coming year, he would discover his inner valor.

Unfortunately, not all was well during the examination period. Thranduil observed how Electra's scar would inflame at random moments; Electra constantly rubbed her peculiar scar in aggravation and could be seen complaining to Lavender and Neville of her gruesome dreams depicting a hooded figure, dripping blood ever since her encounter in the depths of the forest.

Thranduil willingly followed the trio once the last exam – History of Magic, ended. He loomed over them as they basked in the beautiful summer day nearby the lake where the redheaded twins and their dark-skinned friend with a peculiar hairdo were currently tickling the giant squid.

"I wish I knew what this means," Electra whined as she rubbed her scar once more. Thranduil's face shone with worriment, and he wasn't the only one; Lavender shifted slightly and said, "Maybe Madam Pomfrey could help out …"

But Thranduil inwardly smiled at that, he knew that Electra despised visiting the healing quarters and would rather soldier on in pain then achieve aid from the matronly healer. As expected, she shook her head and said, "I'm not ill. I think it's a warning … it means danger's coming."

Neville's round face frowned in concern, "If you're thinking anything about Snape and the Stone, then you should relax. As long as Dumbledore is around then we have nothing to worry about, Elle."

There was a nice moment of tranquility before Electra suddenly shot up from the ground, her face tight with apprehension as she ran along the steep path to the giant's hut with a bewildered Lavender and Neville not far behind.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think?" Electra rapidly explained to her two friends.

 _Oh, Eru_. Thranduil's eyes threatened to bulge out from their sockets at her words. Clever girl.

An ominous feeling stirred in the atmosphere as he pondered the meaning behind this clue. It was a delicately prepared plan; the stranger who had bestowed the giant with the accursed dragon egg purposely tricked information out of him to get the Stone.

And the giant had just confirmed it to the trio.

"Did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Lavender hesitantly asked.

"Well – yeah –how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep –"

"YOU FOOL!" Thranduil roared at the top of his lungs. Not only had he been hoodwinked, but he had just given three children dangerous information.

Thranduil followed the trio back into the castle, breathing a sigh of relief when they mutually agreed it was best to finally inform Albus Dumbledore. He face palmed however, when the cat professor notified them that the old man wasn't at the castle; if only that were so, the cat professor didn't believe the trio when they informed her that someone was about to steal the Stone.

The Race of Men does not take children seriously, thinking them jesters who create false tales and accusations, and so, the cat professor sent them back to their dormitories, completely dismissing their warnings and concerns with nothing but suspicion.

King Thranduil felt torn when Electra adamantly decided to recover the stone before the mystery perpetrator; he didn't know if he should feel pride over her bravery, or distraught over her placing herself in imminent danger once again.

But when Electra made a moving speech of how the Dark Istari killed her parents and if he retrieved the Stone their lives would all be forfeit sooner or later, Thranduil grudgingly agreed the child made an established point.

"I'll just use the Invisibility Cloak," Electra breathed out, "It's just lucky I got it back."

"But will it cover all three of us?" Neville asked. Thranduil beamed at the close friendship; when Electra gaped at the round and forgetful boy in shock, Lavender scoffed, informing her that they would never leave her side, and Thranduil knew that Electra Amycate Potter had been blessed with loyal and brave companions.

As Thranduil silently followed the invisible trio in their wake like a ghost, his thoughts revolved around the late James and Lily Potter – they sacrificed their lives for Electra, to live in a world of peace and safety; however it didn't go as planned. Electra's first year, she had been placed in constant danger, and a pang hit his chest, thoughts of Legolas being in her situation was too much for the bitter King to imagine.

Other than a run in with the nuisance poltergeist, the destination to the third floor corridor went without a hitch; Thranduil held his breath when the door opened and the beast was fast asleep – a harp lay by its monstrous feet, deeming the trio's accusation to be true.

Electra began to play an enchanting melodic tune with a harp as Lavender and Neville pushed aside the feet of the creature and opened the trapdoor. His ghostlike form stood above the trapdoor and with his impeccable eyesight, he recognized plants lay at the bottom. Knowing this magical institution by now, Thranduil knew they would be met with a disastrous situation, yet he could not waylay his thoughts to the trio.

He could only watch with dread as one by one, the three children dropped down to the bottom before the creature's fangs could sink into them.

Before Thranduil vanished from his spot and to the children below, he heard a loud THUMP.

"Stop moving, both of you," Neville cried out, his plump face screwed in worriment, "This is Devil's Snare!"

Thranduil's crystal blue eyes widened in fear when he took note of the many snakelike tendrils twisting around the two girls' ankles, bounding tightly in long creepers without their notice. Thranduil also took note that the more the children moved, the faster the tendrils wrapped around them in indignation.

In fact, clumsy, forgetful Neville seemed to be the only one not wrapped in its ensnaring clutches, and crystal eyes rounded in comprehension before a sigh of relief emanated from his mouth; Neville Longbottom was a master in Herbology – they would depart from this gruesome scene safely with their lives intact.

"Devil's Snare likes the dark and the damp," Neville mumbled to himself before he unsheathed his wand and whispered out, "Incendio." A few sweat beads dripped down his forehead in consternation as he tried to concentrate on perfecting the spell.

Thranduil watched in awe as flames erupted around them and the plant screeched loudly, disentangling from the two Istari's and retreating – cringing away from the light and warmth. The three Istari's dropped down below and when Thranduil rejoined them once again, he smiled fondly at the scene –

The two girls were embracing their shy friend, congratulating him graciously and complimenting him on his Herbology skills.

The next task was simpler; Electra triumphantly got them across the room onto the other side by flying on a broomstick and catching an archaic, weathered flying key; a groan escaped the bitter King's lips when he recognized the task in the chamber ahead.

A giant chessboard stood innocently, and Thranduil knew that this was not Electra's expertise. It was up to Lavender and Neville who were mediocre in the strategic game, and for the first time, Thranduil moaned the loss of the redheaded Weasley's friendship, for the King knew that boy was incredibly skillful in chess.

Thranduil himself was adept in the game – after all, he had many millenniums of proficient knowledge and as a King of an entire Realm, one must be a connoisseur in strategy.

He winced and flinched many times upon noticing their countless mistakes, thankfully none of them got injured however … until the end that is.

Neville – brave and courageous Neville, had no choice but to sacrifice himself so that Electra could checkmate the King and go through the chamber on the other side. Although the two witches were uncomfortable with leaving him behind, they had no choice and Thranduil was grateful that the Troll in the next chamber had already been defeated.

The abhorrent hook-nosed professor had a logic test as their last task, and Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief knowing that Electra was skilled in the art of potion-making. The two witches had many ounces of logic, and together, they battled through the puzzling riddle.

Unfortunately, there was only enough potion for one swallow, meaning only one would be able to gain entrance to the next chamber. Thranduil should not have been surprised when Electra offered herself up, and practically ordered Lavender to wake Neville up and try to contact the old man.

The ominous feeling returned tenfold and Thranduil's blood turned to ice when he noticed the professor with the lurid turban stood calmly on the other side, staring intently at the familiar mirror of desire.

" _You_!" Electra gasped, stilling in shock – and she wasn't the only one; Thranduil had been positive it would be the abhorrent greasy professor. "But I thought – Snape –"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, and Thranduil narrowed his eyes when he noticed that the professor seemed to have garnered his wits and miraculously halted his ridiculous stuttering. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p=poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

 _That dratted bastard_ , Thranduil fumed in silent rage. He had been faking that aggravating stutter all year. His jaw managed to successfully drop when Quirrell informed Electra that the abhorrent professor had actually been _protecting_ her all year long. The lurid turban Professor had been cursing her broomstick and _Snape_ had been muttering the counter-curse.

Thranduil leaned against the wall in surprise, his eyes flickering around the chamber for a sort of exit. However, even if the King located one, he had no way of informing the child of a successful escape, and so, he hoped her companions and the old man would arrive in the nick of time.

Of course, Quirrell let the troll in – like himself, Electra didn't seem surprised anymore. The only surprising comment was that Snape had been protecting her and hated her father; thankful now for Snape's heroism, it gave him no excuse to hate on an innocent child due to a rivalry between her long deceased father.

 _A child should never be blamed for the sins of the father._

Halfway through the conversation, a chilling and cold voice echoed around the chamber to use the girl and Thranduil's icy heart leapt out of place. With his impeccable eyesight, Thranduil did not fail to notice a circular lump suddenly appear in Electra's pocket, and he knew it to be the Stone. However, Electra failed to fool the mysterious voice, and Thranduil desperately wanted to rip out his eyes at the gruesome sight he was met with.

The Dark Istari had been in the castle all year, attached to the back of Quirrell's head, hidden in the damning lurid turban. When Quirrell unwrapped the turban, a terrible, chalk white face with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils was given wide berth and Thranduil honestly felt nauseous.

When he had observed the Dark Istari kill the elder Potters eleven years ago, he never had the pleasure of witnessing the face covered under the hood – until now. How much dark sorcery managed to convert the Istari into such a pitiful and horrid sight?

The Dark Istari began taunting the death of the valorous James and Lily Potter, and Thranduil felt rage like never before. Electra thankfully didn't believe the deceitful words and refused to return the Stone.

Worry flooded Thranduil's veins when Quirrell attacked the little girl; worriment transformed into awe and confusion when the Dark Istari began burning, his skin charring at the simple contact of skin with Electra.

Horrid hair-raising screeching of the Dark Istari filled the chamber as Electra pounced and grabbed his face turning him into ash, and Thranduil watched in horror when Quirrell combusted and Electra fainted, just as the old man ran into view and the spirit of the Dark Istari fled the premises.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

King Thranduil had been in an explosive mood for three days; he had awoken from his slumber when Electra Amycate Potter fainted, and ever since that night, he had been dreaming of nothing ever since.

Absolutely nothing.

For the next three days, he would awake by dawn to continue his Kingly duties with no dreams of the endearing child he had been growing fond of. It was almost as though she had passed over into the land of the dead, and Thranduil's bad mood would incline with each passing day.

He prayed to the Valar every night before he would give in to hiss unconsciousness to see the little Istari that had begun to have a firm hold on his bitter heart, yet he would dream of nothing but darkness.

Servants scrambled away from his ire and even his son, Legolas and Captain of the Guard, Tauriel managed to keep a large distance from his vexatious mood.

Thank Eru, on the third night, Thranduil found himself situated in the Healing Quarters, staring down at a frail, pale and weakened Electra Potter, speaking to the old man of the happenings that occurred under the trapdoor. Thranduil's heart threatened to explode with joy – he couldn't have the young Istari die on him; she was too important, for some confusing purpose.

King Thranduil curiously listened in to their enthralling conversation about the Stone and the Dark Istari. The old man had the Stone destroyed after a lengthy conversation with his friend Nicholas Flamel; it was a well-done strategic move – the Dark Istari would now have no way of returning from his spirit form with the Stone destroyed.

When Electra asked Dumbledore about Voldemort not being gone, he spoke words that chilled the King to his bones, "No, Electra, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share … not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Electra, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle – and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

So the Dark Istari shall return – from what Thranduil gathered from Albus Dumbledore's speech, it was inevitable. The Dark Istari who seemed to have a personal unknown vendetta with the little girl shall return someday and come after her.

Electra asked the question that had plagued not only his thoughts, but the thoughts of Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and Mithrandir, and King Thranduil leaned forward curiously, not wanting to miss the response.

"Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried stopping him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?" – _Why indeed?_

The old man sighed deeply, his face crinkled in sadness, "Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day … put it from your mind for now, Electra. When you are older … I know you hate to hear this … when you are ready, you will know."

And although Thranduil was disappointed with the lack of response, he knew that the old man was correct with his reasoning. Electra was merely an eleven year old child, and she deserved the peace of mind to act like one until the horrid truth comes out. The Elven King would have to curb his insatiable curiosity until the time arrives.

Another curious question; why couldn't Quirrell touch her?

Tears threatened to drop from crystal blue eyes; Lily Potter had died to save Electra. Her love was powerful enough it left a mark on the little girl … according to the old man, to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. In Electra's skin. Voldemort couldn't touch her since she was marked by something so good and so pure; love; a mother's love.

Oh, Lainathiel. Thranduil tried collecting his thoughts, not wanting to weep like a babe over his lost love; Lily Potter was an admirable woman, an admirable mother and an admirable Istari. Protecting her only child in her last moments, even in death she continued to protect her child from the Dark Istari with a vendetta, and that was simply _admirable_.

A smile appeared on Thranduil's face when the mysterious sender turned out to be the old man – the Invisibility Cloak belonging to her late father; an heirloom. She deserved to have belongings of her parents.

As it turned out; James Potter saved Snape's life, and he returned the life debt by protecting Electra all year so that he could return to hating the man in peace. A frown puckered on the King's flawless face; he was an expert in detecting lies, and although he noticed no deception from the old man, he could tell that it was only a half-truth; there was more to the mind-boggling actions of the abhorrent professor.

However, King Thranduil must admit, the old man was a genius, a mastermind and a prodigy. Lady Galadriel would take immense interest in the old Istari. The mirror of desire was enchanted by him to only give the Stone to an Istari who wanted _to find the Stone, and not use it_.

Yes, Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien would be pleased with meeting the old Istari personally; the Elven King could already see that they would get along swimmingly.

 ***** (The ElvenKing & the Pure of Heart) *****

The first year of Hogwarts had come to a close; Gryffindor won the House Cup due to the trio's adventure under the trapdoor and the three companions promised each other to stay in contact with each other, along with the redheaded twins who seemed to have taken a liking to the Gryffindors triad.

Thranduil held suspicions that perhaps one of the twins were incredibly fond and had taken a romantic liking to Lavender, yet he dismissed the thought as quick as it had come to mind – the girl was still too young, not having peeked adulthood.

A month went by, and Thranduil tried creating harmony in the Elven Kingdom. It was not fair to his people to gain his ire due to the despicable treatment of the Dursleys.

King Thranduil did not know whether he preferred Electra to be in constant danger at Hogwarts or bullied and starved at Privet Drive with her horrid kin.

Her fat uncle would yell at her if she uttered the word 'Magic', berating her for using the 'M' word around them in their perfectly normal and picturesque house – how utterly foolish of the man. Her shrew of an aunt would barely give her a proper meal for nourishment and order her around the house as though she were their personal servant. And the fat glutton would whine around the house like an indignant child, bossing her and his parents as though he were a Prince of all things; _the_ _swine_.

They also locked all her schooling material in the cupboard under the stairs – the meager space that used to be known as Electra's room for ten years; that made Thranduil snarl and clench his fists at the dratted reminder.

If that weren't enough, poor Electra Amycate Potter received no letters from her best friends; although they had all promised her, they seemed to have failed and forgotten about her existence. Thranduil was forced into watching the poor girl tread between the lines of depression and loneliness.

Her birthday came around another month later, and not a word was uttered. No cake, no presents, no letters, no well wishes; nothing. The shrew ordered her clean the house, barely gave her a decent meal and then proceeded to lock her in her room where she had been warned to pretend she didn't exist and not utter a sound, since the fat beast had a business dinner prepared.

However, that night, everything began to change.

Thranduil was shocked to the core when he entered her room to see a disgustingly brown and skinny creature bouncing on her bed; it had bulging green eyes a shade lighter than Electra's, the size of a giant gem, and he recognized it to be similar to the giant orbs that had been watching her pluck out the garden weeds.

Shockingly, the creature jumped off the bed and bowed so low, the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpeting on the floor. Thranduil's forehead scrunched in confusion when he recognized the creature to be wearing a dirty, old pillowcase with rips for its arms and legs.

 _What in the Valar was this creature, and why in Eru is it dressed in such a manner?_

Electra hadn't been able to pick up her bearings as she timidly stared at the creature in astonishment, especially when it suddenly spoke up in a high-pitched voice, "Electra Potter. So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, miss … Such an honor it is …"

Thranduil and Electra winced in unison; this Dobby was it? This odd-named creature's high, shrilling voice had definitely reached the ears of the other mortals having dinner. Why did this strange creature that seemed to be an adoring fan of the 'Girl-Who-Lived' choose this night of all nights to visit her? What horrid timing.

"Umm, not wanting to be rude or anything," Electra timidly said, "But can you please keep your voice down. Now, who are you?"

"Dobby, miss. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf."

 _EXCUSE ME? I BEG ITS PARDON! HOUSE-_ _ **ELF**_ _!_

What in Eru is a house- _elf_? That creature looks nothing like an elf, and King Thranduil was deeply insulted that such a creature shared the same title as his Race. Elves were superior beings with elegant and breathtaking beauty, not such a shriveling and wrinkled creature dressed in poor garbs.

However, Thranduil's fury dissipated when this Dobby began wailing just because Electra offered him a seat. Apparently, a wizard had never asked him to sit down like an equal, and King Thranduil found it utterly barbaric – he never treated his servants as though they were animals without feelings, no matter how cruel he could be under his rule.

Dobby stared at Electra with adoration, and Thranduil found it slightly creepy behavior. His jaw slackened with disbelief when Dobby began bashing his head hard against the window squealing, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" countless times, causing a racket.

"Dobby had to punish himself, miss. Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, miss."

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, miss. … Dobby is a house-elf – bound to serve one house and one family forever."

A predatory growl rumbled in the King's throat when Electra asked Dobby if the family knew he was with her, and when it shuddered in fear and said, "Oh, no, miss, no … Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, miss. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew miss –"

His masters were despicable; whoever this family – they were utterly barbaric. And when Dobby commented that his family that he serves reminds him to do extra punishments … Thranduil's ire increased drastically. Such cruel Istaris … The Race of Men could be so cruel at times.

His interest and worriment was peaked however when Dobby let out an ominous warning; _Electra Potter must not go back to Hogwarts._

"There is a plot, Electra Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year. Dobby has known for months, miss. Electra Potter must not put herself in peril. She is too important, miss."

Thranduil wanted to rip out his well-groomed hair; another plot, another dangerous year. Would the young Istari ever have a moment of rest? If she stayed with her kin, she would suffer, and if she left to the magical institution, she would place herself in utmost danger. It was a lose, lose situation, and Thranduil knew that like Electra, he preferred her to be in Hogwarts under adult supervision.

Dobby wouldn't utter a word of the mastermind behind the dangerous plot, but Thranduil had an inkling it was the master he served. He continuously banged his head on the wall and when Electra refused to give her word that she would stay with her kin, the house-elf went into a frenzy.

His knuckles whitened when Dobby admitted he had been stopping the letters from her friends and pulled out a large stack of unread envelopes. Apparently, the annoying house-elf hoped that if Electra thought her friends had forgotten about her, she wouldn't want to return; that daft, meddling house-elf.

Dobby then proceeded to run downstairs and use some strange brand of silent magic to smash the giant desert the shrew spent hours making on the ground before disappearing, with a farewell of, 'it was for her own good.'

Electra's threat of being able to use magic out of school had all but vanished when an owl arrived with a letter giving her a warning otherwise she would be expelled from the institution if she used magic once more and the fat uncle dragged her into the room and locked her up.

Thranduil wished for nothing but to tear that creature apart for causing the young Istari more misery and he could do nothing but watch as they starved her for days on end, only allowing her reprieve to empty her bladder twice a day.

The King of the Elven Realm prayed to the Valar once again that Electra would be saved from the hellish house of her kin before she died of starvation.

 **A/N:** **Whew, this was a long chapter.**

 **We have finally reached Book 2: The Chamber of Secrets; maybe 2 or 3 chapters more and we'll reach Book 3. Did you like Thranduil's reactions? Especially when he found out about house-elves.**

 **More to come & sorry for keeping you all waiting for this chapter. I will try and get the next chapter out soon.**

 **R &R.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 9:**

It has been three days. Three horrendously atrocious days spent observing Electra suffer abuse doled out by her own kin due to that dratted _house-elf_. A flap was drilled onto the bottom of the door leading to her room chamber, where an infinitesimal amount of bland food would be passed through; barely edible drivel that was not even a substantial amount to fill up her malnourished state.

The fat swine of an uncle paid somebody from the Race of Men to fit metal bars on her window, making her a prisoner in her own home. King Thranduil spent three days observing her malnourished and haggard state allowed reprieve only to visit the powder room for egestion and excretion.

The King was about to explode when the third routinely day arrived in his subconscious. However, on the fourth day, the routine had changed drastically, and a wide smile couldn't help but flitter across his face when the doorbell rang, and the shrew graciously permitted the spruce guests entry into their abode, completely oblivious that the young girl was in fact, Lavender Brown, an Istari and fellow friend of the prisoner kept upstairs.

Thranduil went through elation when he observed the visage of the fat swine and his shrew of a wife abruptly morph into fear and horror when the adult Istari, who happened to be Lavender's older brother, revealed the purpose of their visit and demand they speak to Electra immediately. Of course, just as Thranduil expected, they denied her presence in the house and proceeded to exile them, threatening they would call ' _police_ ' – law enforcement.

Liam Brown – Thranduil discovered it to be the christened name bequeathed to Lavender's brother, deftly whipped out his wand barging upstairs with the younger girl by his side and horror-stricken at the mere sight of the door, he uttered a charm, unlocking the innumerable bolts and loudly gasping at the beheld scene.

" _Merlin_! _Elle_! What have _they_ done to you?" Lavender screeched at the top of her lungs, dashing over to the shocked redhead who repeatedly blinked in a daze, probably believing to have imagined her best friend rescuing her. Liam whirled around, giving the swine and shrew a look of paramount revulsion; he began waving his wand, and Electra's possessions bashed through the storage room downstairs that had been a 'bedroom' for the redhead for ten excruciating years, summoned to their side.

The two Brown siblings threatened her kin; Liam had a menacing visage take over his face as he warned them, intimidating them to begin treating her better when she took residency over the summer in the coming year, before carrying her out of the household. The older Istari presented an object that looked like a crushed soda can he witnessed her kin drink from before, informed the redhead that it was defined as a 'Portkey' and then disappeared from the idyllic street.

After that horrid event and excellent rescue, Thranduil's mood wholly lightened up. Electra was constantly seen with a bright smile illuminating her features, feeling a sense of belonging; she was cossetted and pampered by Mrs. Brown – Lilac, who swore that she would succeed in fattening her up before Hogwarts. Mr. Brown – Lenard, cherished her and regaled her many stories of his youth, while Liam and his expecting wife, Dalia treated her as they would a younger sibling. Thranduil was gratified once again, that Electra chose this impeccable girl to be her friend; Electra and Lavender had a sibling companionship, and the bitter King portended they would never part from each other and protect one another until the end of their days.

Finally, the Hogwarts letters arrived in a timely fashion and the Brown family aided Electra in traveling by the curious means of fireplace; apparently, according to Liam, it was called, 'travel by Floo powder' much to the Woodland King's bewilderment. A demonstration was set, and the married couple traveled first. Thranduil had to rub his eyes, unable to believe what had just occurred in front of his eyes; when will he cease to be astonished by the Wizarding World and these intriguing Istaris.

Liam and Dahlia stepped into the fire as though the flames weren't painful whatsoever, pinched a small amount of the curious glittering powder, threw it into the flames and in clear, coherent words, spoke out, " _Diagon Alley_." The fire roared tremendously, engulfing the couple and turned an emerald green, before vanishing from view completely.

Unfortunately, Electra wasn't articulate in her wording and found herself in a dreary kiosk covered from head to toe in black soot; Thranduil's senses tangibly heightened with an ominous feeling as he scrutinized their surroundings. A withered hand sat idly by on a cushion, eliciting a revolted grimace from the King; there was a blood-stained deck of cards that had the King recoil slightly; sinister-looking masks; assortments of what Thranduil distinguished them to be, _human_ _bones_ much to the King's ire.

Thranduil was horrified; it was obvious that Electra landed herself in a kiosk filled with items of dark sorcery and a groan inadvertently escaped his bow-shaped lips when he recognized the familiar figure of the uncouth boy entering with an older man who, judging by the similar hair and eye color, along with the pale, pointed features, was his Adar. A breath of relief was exhaled when the King noticed the redheaded Istari he was quickly becoming fond of, dart into a cabinet, hiding herself from being discovered and allowing a small crack to observe the happenings.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed at the uncouth boy's Adar; he was adamant in selling many dark items from a list to the greasy-haired owner of the horrid kiosk. Thranduil had his suspicions that perhaps this, Mister Borgin was the hook-nosed professor's brother, due to the identical greasy hair and sallow demeanor, but he waved it off as the uncouth boy began complaining about Electra in a drawling and annoyed tone.

If Legolas acted in such a shameful manner, Thranduil would have him grounded for half a century; the uncouth boy _demanded_ to be bought a present, and when his Adar stated in a bored tone of disinterest that he would buy him his own broomstick, he began nagging in a droning voice about how Electra was given special permission to have her own broom and play Quidditch.

"She's not even that good," _LIAR,_ "It's just because she's famous … famous for having a stupid _scar_ on her forehead." Thranduil desperately wanted to cuff the uncouth boy atop his head; the vulgar child wouldn't be thinking it was so 'stupid', reveling in the fame due to being an orphan … ridiculous, loathsome child.

Thranduil smirked at the bored expression on the adult Istari's face … the King was under the impression that it was all rehearsed, and that the uncouth boy had been speaking of nothing but Electra Potter nonstop for months. He was proven correct when the Adar snapped at his son in aggravation, stating in an exceedingly irritated tone that he had mentioned it to him _a_ _dozen_ _times_ already.

Minutes idled by, and the King kept an eye on the young Istari hidden in the cabinet while the Mister Malfoy spoke business with the possibly Snape's brother; his heart began thrumming when the uncouth boy neared the cabinet, his hand outstretched as he went to open it. _Thank Eru_ , his Adar beckoned him forward and departed the sinister kiosk.

Electra ambled out of the kiosk, into a darker more sinister street that drew a permanent grimace onto the bitter and the fearless King's face, breathing a sigh of relief when the giant, Electra's first friend, located her mere moments later and ushered her over to the Browns, each member's faces breaking out into vivid relief.

Thranduil's face was caught between flabbergasted shock and revulsion when he witnessed a horde of women Istaris clamoring over to a blonde Istari who seemed to be signing books with his own face plastered over each cover; he looked like a groomed and pruned man who cared for naught but his image and his oddly moussed golden hair, his teeth shining like the sun when he smiled at the women; on the whole, he looked to be deeply enamored with himself. When his eyes settled on Electra, he muttered to himself and exultantly dragged her over to get her picture taken; fortunately, Lenard and Liam berated him publicly, and demanded he never put his hands against a minor against their will.

King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm thanked Eru repeatedly that Electra managed to find herself a wonderful and caring family to look out for her who were astute with sharp brain cells; he knew that the late James and Lily Potter were smiling down from the heavens, grateful for the Browns.

Neville joined the two girls in the bookstore and the three reunited friends began moaning and grumbling over the phony Lockhart when he announced he would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this following year. Thranduil honestly assumed the Headmaster had lost his mind; it only took a simple glance, and already the bitter King had no patience for that primping and fussy Istari.

Smacking his forehead when the Malfoys caused a scene with the massive family of redheads, of course Electra _had_ to get herself involved; however, pride took over his features when Electra faced the uncouth boy's Adar, valiantly uttering, each word stressed firmly, that Lord Voldemort killed her parents and was nothing more than a murderer when he inspected her scar and praised the evil Istari.

Thranduil followed the Browns as they took their leave right before the patriarchs of the redhead and uncouth boy began an argument with their fists. Thranduil dearly hoped that this year would pass swimmingly without any quandaries … but for some reason, the bitter King could not shake away the ominous and foreboding feeling that settled deep within the blood running through his veins.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

"Apologies mellon nin, did you utter the term ' _house-elf'_?" Elrond gaped unattractively, his flawless face morphed into utmost horror and laced with shock.

"Oh yes, apparently _Earth_ entertains magical creatures who call themselves _house-elves_ where they are nothing but short creatures with abnormally ugly features meant to be servants to rich wizarding families," Thranduil sneered, glad that his fellow elf friends, Elrond and Galadriel entertained his disapproval in such creatures sharing the name of their race.

Lady Galadriel noticeably winced when she observed the image of Dobby from Thranduil's memory, her starlight eyes burning with revulsion and horror. "How utterly crude and barbaric; his _master_ _convinces_ him to punish himself! _Why_ we treat our servants with respect and kindness no matter how lowly they are, or the roots they came from."

"From what you have informed us, King Thranduil, these Istaris treat their 'house-elves' as though they are filthy _orcs_ ," Mithrandir spat out orcs as though it were the most revolting thing in the world – which, they were in actuality.

"And, this _Dobby_ is an avid admirer of our dear Electra Potter?" Elrond questioned curiously, a finger stroking his lips as he pondered the quizzical event.

Thranduil nodded with a weary sigh, "Yes, Elrond. This Dobby had come with a foreboding warning, forcefully demanding she does not attend Hogwarts due to ill-boding and perilous events that were to happen that year… whenever Electra would question for what intent, he would bash his head against anything solid, unable to utter the dratted words."

"Forbidden by his master," Lady Galadriel stated in ponderment, "Most probably, Dobby's master is in charge for what is to happen, and he was only able to _warn her_ , but not elaborate."

"Unfortunately, I find myself unable to intervene, only observe silently in a spiritual form. I would be useless and of no help," Thranduil spat out through gritted teeth; he hated being helpless.

"Then let us hope for the best and do relay the tidings of the coming year, Thranduil. Peace mellon nin, pray to Eru that Electra spares no tribulations," Lady Galadriel uttered in a strangely mystical voice, her starlight eyes gazing into nothing in particular.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Thranduil found himself smiling fondly as the Browns gathered Electra into an affectionate embrace, vowing to see her soon and wishing her a wonderful year. The three friends clambered into an empty compartment and Thranduil sat aside, listening in as the redhead regaled to the blonde and brunette about her curious visit from Dobby over the summer.

Lavender and Neville were well-versed in the workings of house-elves and their brand of magic as they both came from noble wizarding families, especially Neville; he informed the two girls of the elves in his manor, and Thranduil's respect for the clumsy child increased in volume when he turned apoplectic with rage at the treatment of Dobby. According to Neville, most house-elves were treated with kindness and respect, but unfortunately, there were some belonging to Dark families and were treated vilely as though they were naught but rubbish.

Neville adamantly told them that if you regarded a house-elf with kindness they would be extremely loyal to the family they served, but those treated poorly would inevitably betray them; apparently, Dobby was horribly mistreated, he began searching for a loophole to warn Electra. The three companions decided to sharpen their senses that year, keep vigilance and not take Dobby's warning so lightly.

Thranduil vehemently approved, staring fondly at the three children as they settled themselves for the start-of-the-year feast.

Electra's first day of classes was appalling; she was constantly followed by two first-year fans: a redheaded girl who ended up being the youngest Weasley and only daughter and a mousy-haired boy by the name of Colin Creevey who stalked her around the castle with a curious contraption; a camera. He constantly begged for a picture along with a signed autograph, bringing attention to her from the masses, especially, to her annoyance, the uncouth boy and the phony Lockhart.

The Headmaster ended up beckoning her after a meal, taking her aside and informing her that Liam Brown conversed with him quite vehemently about the maltreatment of the Dursleys, assuring her that he too paid them a visit after she had departed, warning them to treat her better when she returned during the summer otherwise they would meet his wrath. Thranduil smiled; at least the Headmaster didn't approve of the Dursleys, which was glaringly obvious, since the regular twinkling blue eyes burned with a fiery rage similar to his own. It was clear to the King that the wizened Headmaster who so resembled Mithrandir was incredibly fond of the redheaded Istari.

Thranduil gaped in utter bewilderment during the first Defense class Electra and her friends attended, lectured by that blonde phony; the King found himself nodding approvingly when he distributed test papers to see their skillset in defense, however, that emotion quickly transformed into discontentment when he spied the questions.

 _What is Gilderoy Lockart's_ _ **favorite color**_ _? …_

How utterly daft was the teacher? He was a complete phony; an amused smile appeared on his face when the three companions shared looks of disgust and disbelief before jotting down mere guesswork, wanting nothing more than to rid themselves of the pointless parchments.

Unsurprisingly, only the bushy-haired bookworm answered every question correctly, and the King recognized from her facial reaction that she was completely enamored by the blonde phony, much to his ire. No matter how annoying the girl was, with a lack of social skills, the King thought the girl was logical with a sensible mind … however, the bushy-haired Istari spent the whole lesson sparing the phony googly eyes much to his disapproval.

The class concluded with the phony letting out curious blue impish creatures with onyx circular eyes named Cornish Pixies and the utter idiot released them from their cage, creating havoc in the classroom. It was a fiasco, and total pandemonium and every child escaped the classroom with scratches and bruises on their person and Thranduil wanted nothing more than to smite him and imprison him down in the dungeons.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

After the horrid first day back the remaining days of the week passed by serenely.

One day, Thranduil found himself observing Electra out in the Quidditch field in the middle of a heated quarrel with the Slytherins. The uncouth boy seemed to have bought his way into joining the team by having his Adar gift the latest _Nimbus_ broom for every player – how despicable and an underhanded maneuver.

Much to the King's shock, little Collin, who seemed to have stalked Electra in order to observe her fly, defended the Gryffindors, and quite bravely so, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in. _They_ got in on pure talent." Thranduil found himself applauding the young boy, however, it didn't last long as the uncouth boy sneered at him and sharply called him a ' _Mudblood_ ' whatever that term meant.

Evidently, the term had a horrid definition since every member not attired in green garbs gasped in outrage, except for a bemused and bewildered Electra. Lavender began shrieking at the top of her lungs waving her hands erratically while the three Chasers screamed in sync, " _How dare you_!" The redheaded twins had to be held back by the angered Captain as they went to pulverize the uncouth boy who was being shielded by the green Captain who resembled a monstrous troll.

Neville, clumsy boy that he was, unsheathed his wand and uttered a spell, pure rage displayed on his face, but unfortunately, the spell backfired and he was thrown across the field. Thranduil gaped horror-struck when the clumsy boy he had grown fond of began retching _actual live_ _slugs_ from his mouth, and his nose scrunched up in disgust.

Electra and Lavender heaved the poor boy over to the giant's hut, where he was given a giant bucket. Hagrid informed Neville that there was no solution but to expel every slug out from his system. The giant was outraged when they informed him what the uncouth boy said and Thranduil found himself in a colossal rage when Lavender finally explained what the term meant to a mystified Electra.

 _Dirty blood! DIRTY BLOOD!_ The boy was vile, cruel and uncouth … Son of an Orc! Not just the boy, but the prejudiced Istaris as well. They speak of 'Muggleborns' as though they were vile and their blood bled black, much like the orcs. Thranduil's thoughts were chaotic, unable to believe what he was forced to listen to.

Elves and Dwarves may hold a great despise over each other's Races; the elves found dwarves to be stubborn, greedy, lacking any manners and easily fallen preys to gold and anything ostentatious. In return, the dwarves called Elves many nasty insults, such as tree-shaggers, tree-huggers, pointy eared and girly who are afraid to get dirty, among other invectives. But deep inside, they respected one another and held a deep hatred to orcs, wargs and all things evil. Dwarves and Elves never held such hatred to the extent the prejudiced Istaris held toward Muggleborns.

Then the curious question was spoken out loud … _why did Neville's spell backfire?_

Electra and Lavender were scandalized when Neville confided in them he had been using his father's wand for a whole year, citing the wand-maker's previous and most famous quote, "The wand chooses the wizard, and only a wand that has chosen you, would work well in your possession."

Once Neville had expelled every single nauseous slug from his system, the trio directly approached the cat lady and their Head of House, informing her of Neville's predicament with his wand. Appalled and dismayed for the obvious reason why Neville didn't excel in his classes, the cat lady sent a letter to Augusta Longbottom, Neville's apparently scary and formidable grandmother, demanding Neville to be taken to Diagon Alley and buy a proper wand meant for his person.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

The peculiar holiday of the Race of Men in Earth, Halloween was approaching, and by that time Thranduil was pleased to witness Neville besting his practical spells in every single class he had previously been mediocre in.

One day when Electra had been returning from Quidditch practice all muddy and wet from the dismal weather the Captain, Oliver Wood had forced them to train under; the ghost with the revolting nearly decapitated head warned her that the vile caretaker was in an atrocious mood, but before Electra could escape his wrath, the caretaker roared at her to accompany him to his office.

But surprisingly, the nuisance of a poltergeist had impeccable timing and Thranduil watched as the vile caretaker allowed Electra leave without punishment, wringing his hands nervously due to the fact that the young Istari had peeked into a curious letter that laid on his desk with the title of … ' _Kwikspell_.'

As it turned out, the ghost, Nick had convinced the poltergeist to cause a ruckus in means of distracting the caretaker and letting Electra abscond. In return, she vowed to attend his five hundredth Deathday Party much to his bafflement, along with her friends. Although the three companions were sad to be missing the impressive Halloween feast, they were excited to attend an event not many Istaris had the pleasure of witnessing and they were very fond of keeping promises.

That night when Thranduil silently accompanied them to the Deathday party, he couldn't help but shudder unnervingly. It was extremely spine-chilling being in an enclosed chamber with hundreds of pearly white ghosts roaming around and Neville couldn't help but mutter to the two females to be cautious not to walk into any of them.

Thranduil had the unfortunate inclination to meet a morbid ghost, who according to Electra and Lavender was bequeathed the title of Moaning Myrtle due to her gloomy and depressing disposition. They informed a flummoxed Neville that she spent her afterlife haunting a girls' bathroom situated on the first floor.

"She haunts a _toilet_?" Neville gaped nonplussed; Thranduil agreed wholeheartedly with the plump boy's questioning and mystified statement… what spirit would desire haunting a toilet out of all locations; how mysteriously quizzical.

Lavender nodded vehemently, "Yes. It's been out-of-order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. Elle and I never go there anyway if we could avoid it." Thranduil could imagine the disturbance; a choke escaped him, and his ivory cheeks flushed slightly with Electra's next words, "It's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you."

All things considered, with the rotten inedible food unable to satiate their hunger, the freezing atmosphere in the chamber and the paranoia of avoiding walking into the many ghosts, the three companions found the evening to be lacking with the gloomy ambience and managed to escape the premises, hoping to attend the feast in time for pudding.

Suddenly, Electra stilled in her place, prompting the other two and Thranduil himself to halt in their footsteps and stare at the redhead inquisitively as her face was drawn in fear and alarm. The young Istari began spewing some nonsense about hearing a sinister voice threatening to kill somebody, uncaring or perhaps unnoticing that her two companions were sharing stricken glances since they were unable to hear the disembodied voice.

 _Of course_ , Thranduil despairingly thought to himself, _of course_ the hotheaded and valorous girl would run headfirst into danger, wanting to scope the mystery for herself instead of alerting an experienced adult for aid. And the night took a turbulent end when they ceased running, finding themselves facing a disastrous and horrifying scene.

The vile caretaker's aggravating cat was suspended by her tail from the torch bracket, stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring into the unseen. The premises had been flooded with a puddle of water and over the frozen form of the cat was a gruesome message written in a red substance that looked horribly familiar to blood;

 **THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.**

 **ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.**

What is this Chamber of Secrets in which it was written so portentously? _Heir_ … who is this specific heir? Thranduil found it glaringly obvious that this crude message was written and meant to be a threat to the entire population of Istaris in the castle. _Beware?_ Was this the warning Dobby so fearfully spoke of?

The three companions and Thranduil's spiritual form found themselves surrounded by the rest of the castle who had finished with the feast, hundreds of pairs of eyes staring in horror at the message on the wall.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next Mudbloods!" the familiar drawling voice of the uncouth boy crowed out, and Thranduil sneered at him, his crystal eyes hardening with rage at the boy's flushed face, grinning at the immobile cat with glee. But Thranduil didn't wallow in his fury for long as the caretaker pounced on Electra, going to strangle her with his grubby hands, accusing her of killing his wretched cat.

Thankfully, the Headmaster appeared in the notch of time, dismissing the assembled Istaris except for the trio and accompanying them to the blonde phony's office he had so graciously offered. Unsurprisingly, the hook-nosed professor wasted no time in placing the blame on Electra, stating that she hadn't been in the feast and refusing to believe their alibi of being in the Deathday party.

"There are hundreds of ghosts that saw us. Feel free to ask them yourself, _professor_ ," Lavender sneered, and Thranduil once again applauded her, grinning at her outstanding bravery and reveling in the way the hook-nosed professor's jaw slackened in shock at the disrespectable retort that managed to put him in his place.

The vile caretaker shrieked Electra's motive to be due to the fact that he was a squib; the poor girl didn't even understand the term, and vehemently argued that she didn't touch his bloody cat, verbatim.

"Innocent until proven guilty," was the Headmaster's exact words. Thranduil was nonplussed as to why none of the trio was confiding in them of hearing that sinister voice Electra spoke of; according to the Headmaster, the wretched cat wasn't dead, indeed, it has been petrified and a potion could be made to cure her back to its mobile state.

Following the trio once they were dismissed into an empty classroom, Thranduil finally understood why they never uttered a word of that voice. Seemingly hearing voices in the Wizarding World wasn't a good sign, but Thranduil was pleased that Lavender and Neville believed the redhead wholeheartedly, no matter how unbelievable it was. Also, Thranduil learned that a squib was the opposite of a Muggleborn – an Istari born into a Wizarding family but hasn't any magical power running through their veins.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Thranduil spent the next few days pondering over the curious Chamber of Secrets and the remaining message on the wall. He fumed in rage when he witnessed the young Istaris fleeing from Electra's sight, believing her to have harmed the wretched cat; young ones would point fingers at anyone, preferring to place blame at anyone inconspicuous, before they could be blamed themselves; like flocks of brainless sheep, cowering in fear from the feigned wolf, branding the least likely person as the perpetrator.

King Thranduil finally had his mind put at ease when the bushy-haired bookworm asked the droning ghost of a professor about the meaning behind the message on the wall. The ghost grudgingly began explaining in a monotone the ' _myth_ ' about the Chamber of Secrets, beginning with the four founders of Hogwarts, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin; they built the castle away from prying eyes to teach Istaris when they reached the approved age separating them from those individuals from the Race of Men who persecuted Istaris for fear of their magic, fear of the unknown.

The four founders worked in harmony, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of being an Istari with magic running through their veins and inducting into the castle to be educated, but then disagreements began to accumulate between the founders, specifically a rift between Slytherin and the others; Slytherin preferred non-Muggleborns to be admitted into Hogwarts, believing that magic should be kept within all-magic families. Those with 'Muggle' parentage were untrustworthy and could cause exposure.

In that purpose, Thranduil understood Slytherin's fears, however discriminating against those that deserves no blame was a wrongdoing. In all his millennium of roaming Arda, King Thranduil learnt that each Race had despicable individuals; not all from the Race of Men, Dwarves and Elves were the same, each were distinguishable with their own personalities, differences and faults.

Finally, Slytherin left and the myth says he build a hidden chamber in the castle of which none of the other founders knew about and according to legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that only his true heir would be able to enter when he arrived at the castle.

"The heir alone would be able to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic." Thranduil scoffed when the bore of a ghost stubbornly claimed it was merely a tale told to frighten the gullible; all myths had to have a background … this Chamber of Secrets drivel wasn't too farfetched in the bitter King's opinion.

When the bushy-haired bookworm adamantly inquired what the horror within the Chamber was, Thranduil gulped audibly, heart wrenched in worry; "That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control."

Staring at Electra and her friends, the ominous feeling returned tenfold and Thranduil had a feeling that this 'myth' would turn out to be a fact before the year ended.

 **A/N:** **Whew! So, a lot has happened in Book 2 till now, by next chapter or the one after, we'll have finished from the Chamber of Secrets.**

 **To any confused readers: I believe the Browns and the Weasleys are two completely different sorts of families, as well as Ron and Lavender. Lavender is more logical than Ron who would confide her worries to her parents and smart adult brother, who would offer to visit the Dursleys. ALSO, about the barrier to 9 ¾ ; Dobby informed Harry in canon that he waited for him and Ron to be alone to block the barrier … unlike the Weasleys who always ran late and had many children, the Browns would make sure Lavender and Electra passed through safely before them, and so Dobby was unable to block the barrier.**

 **Hope you enjoyed Thranduil's reactions! XD**

 **R &R.s**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 10:**

The days forwarded idly by with no major happenstance occurring after the droning ghost relayed the ominous tale of the Chamber of Secrets. Thranduil spent a fortnight observing the three comrades hatch up a scheme in discovering _who_ this Heir of Slytherin could possibly be, their main contender being the uncouth boy.

Although the King found the uncouth boy to be suspicious, especially with him lacking care and sympathy toward those who risk being turned into stone and his spouting off that vile word like free candy, Thranduil believed Electra and her friends to be jumping into conclusions. A young boy, barely of the adolescent age would be unable to cast such dark sorcery.

Annoyed at the mindless sheep continuously pointing the blame toward the young Istari he had grown utterly fond off, Thranduil managed to reel in his temper and glide alongside the trio in his ethereal state.

An odd occurrence ensued when the trio departed one afternoon from their lesson, only to confront multiple spiders creating a passage outside the castle walls in means of a thin web. Usually, the King would pay no heed to such an idle occurrence, no matter how odd it may be, however, this wizarding world managed in educating Thranduil that no mere happenchance was a coincidence.

The fortnight after the ghost informed them of the tale behind the Chamber of Secrets, Thranduil found himself listening in as the trio plotted on a scheme to gain information from the uncouth boy.

"Malfoy the Heir of Slytherin?" Lavender couldn't veil the skepticism from her voice, and Thranduil agreed wholeheartedly with her assessment. Electra and Neville too, agreed, however, they decided that the uncouth boy may hold answers to the recurring enigma.

They hatched the plan of concocting a potion by the name of … Polajuice … _Polyjuice_ Potion, allowing them to take form of somebody else giving them leeway into entering the Slytherin Common Room and grabbing information they so desired.

"Snape mentioned in class that it was in a book called _Most Potente Potions_ , bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library," Electra pointed out.

Amusement was the main emotion that took over Thranduil's visage when he witnessed their formulated plan of gaining a teacher's signature to retrieve the forbidden book. They decided to accolade the blonde phony after their Defense lesson, garnering a horrendously loopy signature where he barely glimpsed upon the title of the book.

 _Phony indeed_.

The trio decided to concoct the intricate potion in the bathroom chamber where the moping annoyance of a weeping ghost resided, confident that the population of female Istaris avoided the chamber like the plague and would be uninterrupted.

Neville, due to his wholly fear of the hook-nosed abhorrent Professor was a novice in the art of potion-making, and while Electra was more than mediocre, Thranduil discovered that Lavender was deftly competent due to her mother's profession. Lady Brown owned her own store of beauty products and taught her daughter how to concoct proper potions, even complex ones, and therefore, the Polyjuice Potion would be of no dilemma to the underage Istaris.

Thranduil applauded the trio's resolution in discovering the perpetrator behind the beginning attacks, however, the bitter King desperately hoped beyond hope that they would mind their own concerns and keep themselves afar from the tremendous trouble brewing ahead. There was no hesitation in the beliefs that the house-elf 'Dobby' spoke of protecting Electra from the Chamber of Secrets being said plot.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Thranduil was torn between excitement over observing Electra's Quidditch match, and concern. It would be too much of a coincidence if danger struck yet again during the first game of the year … would it?

The bitter King hoped not; gritting his teeth upon taking note of the uncouth boy harassing her in the air, he couldn't help but gape in disbelief. The boy was a novice, only succeeding in taking part of the opposing team due to bribery and corruption. However, not a mere minute into the game, his heart lurched, threatening to dispel from his throat when he observed the swift miss as the iron hard ball – the Bludger – nearly guillotined Electra.

Closely observing, crystal blue eyes narrowed meaningfully in outrage … the darned Bludger was spelled into tailing the redhead in the air.

 _Why was it, every starting broomstick game of the year had a culprit try to achieve in maiming young Electra?_

A vein introduced itself onto Thranduil's flawless forehead, and threatened to erupt when the Captain Wood agreed with Electra's plea in continuing the dastardly pointless game, risking her life with the stalking Bludger.

"Oliver, this is insane," one of the Chasers – Alicia, the blonde – yelled out in unveiled anger, "You can't let Electra deal with that thing on her own. Let's ask for an inquiry-"Thranduil decided he was quite fond of that Istari Chaser. In fact, the redhead twins and the other female Chasers aimlessly attempted in convincing the Captain and Electra in forfeiting the game – to no avail.

 _Electra Amycate Potter was a foolishly stubborn Istari._

The King was in awe, unable to tear his crystal gaze from her deft skill in the air; avoiding that accursed deathtrap gracefully and agilely with smoothly articulate and elegant precision … she almost resembled a prowess dancer in the air, and Thranduil was mesmerized.

His awed concentration broke when that dastard Bludger connected with her arm, and a mere moment afterwards, she clutched the golden ball deftly in her grasp from right beneath the uncouth boy's nose before collapsing onto the ground. However, not all was well … succeeding one pitfall only to succumb to another by that utterly phony blonde who forcefully manhandled his way into healing her arm and managing to vanish the bones from her limbs.

"You moron! How did you manage to botch up a _simple_ spell," Lavender yelled quite vehemently at the phony, resulting in the surrounding mass to give her berth in fear of encumbering her wrath. "You _vanished_ her bones!"

Yes, suffice to say, the matron too was utterly displeased. Poor Electra was in for a painful night; according the matron, re-growing bones was a complex and agonizing process and Thranduil winced at the excruciating pain as he clutched his strong arm to his chest in an involuntary reaction.

If Thranduil believed the night to lack illumination, he was sadly, severely mistaken; Dobby decided to pay the young Istari a visit, awakening her from her slumber.

"Electra Potter came back to school," the house-elf was miserable, glancing adoring and fawning eyes onto the pained Istari, "Dobby warned and warned Electra Potter. Ah miss, why didn't you heed Dobby? Why didn't Electra Potter go back home when his Bludger was effective?"

 _HIS BLUDGER!_

Thranduil raged and seethed, taking advantage of the fact that nobody would hear his enraged yelling. That idiotic house-elf may have good intentions, yet his actions in carrying out 'protection' were deplorable! The sycophant believed if Electra was hurt enough then she would be sent home.

 _Fool!_

 _Damnation!_

The female Istari obtained cunning. She managed to skillfully and subtly coerce Dobby into parting information about the mythical Chamber, discovering it had been opened once before fifty years ago.

Definitely not the uncouth boy then… Unfortunately, before the house-elf could relay more, several bodies entered the Healing Chambers.

Grave crystal eyes fixated upon the young child that fawned over Electra with that clicking contraption … the second victim of the mysterious perpetrator turned into stone. Thranduil felt an ominous chill, and he feared the young Istaris' survival. Who would be so cruel as to harm children, mere babes barely into adolescence?

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

The mystery of Electra being able to communicate with snakes had been uncovered in the most blatantly horrific of ways. Rumors now spread upon the castle as nearly every Istari adamantly believed young Electra to be the cause for the brutal attacks, and fire filled Thranduil's veins at the implication and blind blame.

It all began when that utter phony of an instructor whose only successful spell was in maintaining his grooming decided on instructing the students how to duel for protection against the perpetrator. The abhorrent hook-nosed professor had Electra duel against the uncouth boy, muttering a blasphemous scheme into his ear.

The uncouth boy then proceeded in conjuring a snake against her; the snake conversely, could not be tamed nor controlled and went to strike the young audience when all of a sudden, Electra began hissing strange words, successfully communicating with the snake and ceasing it from maiming a boy from the yellow house.

The two remnants of the trio yanked the baffled green-eyed Istari from the scene and afar from the numerous fearful glances, into an empty chamber, where they proceeded to inform her that she was in fact a … _parselmouth_ , an affinity meant for conversing with snakes.

Ostensibly, that specific affinity was not common, nor was it appreciated in their community. Evidently the last known Istari with the ability to communicate with snakes, holding the gift of Parselmouth was the Dark Istari passed on to those with the same bloodline as Salazar Slytherin, given why their house emblem is that of a snake.

"Now, the whole school is going to think you're Slytherin's great-great-great-great-granddaughter or something," Lavender pityingly informed her. The newfound affinity hit young Electra abysmally, however, Neville and Lavender stood faithfully by her side, sending death glares of malicious intent to those murmuring despicably behind her back, blaming her for the attacks and concluding her to be a Dark Istari.

How utterly blasphemous. They impiously degrade her, the girl who had a death sentence on her head at the age of one, the girl whose mother had, according to the bigots, 'impure blood' and they carelessly vindicate her as Dark. _Disgraceful_.

Overhearing the yellow house harping about her in the privacy of the library overwhelmed the King with justified anger; following the incensed yet miserable Istari around the castle, she stumbled upon the petrified boy the snake nearly maimed not long ago.

The poor girl had a horrible run-in with commiserations.

What was mind-boggling however was that not only was the boy infected by the perpetrator … the decapitated ghost of the lions ended up being a victim. How on Arda could a dead spirit be harmed by these vicious attacks? What would affect a ghost, for Eru's sake!?

The cat Professor was given no choice but to guide Electra over to the Headmaster's office filled with curious devices puffing smoke around the room. After a short yet brutal conversation with the sorting hat, informing her that she would have done well in Slytherin, the Headmaster appeared just as the striking red and gold bird engulfed into flames.

King Thranduil received quite a shock when he proceeded to witness the strange bird bequeathed the name Fawkes, regrow from the ashes as a newborn.

 _Phoenixes._

What a curiously exquisite creature… Elrond would be utterly fascinated with its description and multitude of usage; _they burst into flames when it is time for them to move on and are reborn from the ashes … they can carry immensely heavy loads … their tears have healing powers …_ how marvelously enchanting.

Thranduil then bore witness as the kind giant barged into the Headmaster's Chamber carrying a dead rooster of all things, and began vehemently arguing in loud voices that Electra was innocent. The sentiment and loyalty was astounding and the bitter King couldn't help but smile fondly, particularly when the old man was in complete agreement with that certain assessment.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Events began to take a drastic turn as Winter approached; while the Elves of the Woodland Realm began busying themselves with the preparation for the regal Winter Ball that usually took place in the Palace, King Thranduil observed in his subconscious as the trio carried out their finalized scheme in imbibing the intricate potion.

Lavender and Neville signed their names alongside Electra for remaining in the castle during the holiday, especially when they overheard the uncouth boy staying behind with his bodyguards. It was the ultimately perfect timing to garner answers about the Chamber of Secrets and they wouldn't be wasting the precious silver lining that befell them.

After the feast concluded, Electra and Neville carried out the seamless plan of alienating and barricading the bodyguards lest they arrive into the Slytherin Common Room with their double selves interrogating the uncouth boy. They laced two cakes with a sleeping draught and levitated it into the air …. The buffoons blindly snatched them and gobbled it wholly before collapsing onto the ground.

Such fatuous, inane boys with no fundamental wits whatsoever.

Lavender managed to achieve a lock of blonde hair from a Slytherin girl, also remaining in the castle, barricading her in an empty chamber while the duo grabbed the locks from the mindless buffoons.

What marvelous creation … the person who first discovered concocting the certain Polyjuice Potion was ingenious, a feat Mithrandir would immensely take interest in. Thranduil observed in gobsmacked wonder as the three Istaris transformed into another form, their skin bubbling and transforming, growing in size, receding hair …

Although it looked to be a painful transformation, it was indeed entrancing.

The labyrinth was complex; luckily for the trio, they ran into the uncouth boy who guided them into the Common Room underground in the dungeon.

Observing his surroundings, Thranduil took note of the glaringly color of green splashed around on the furniture, even the ambience had green lightening much to the trio's chagrin. Thranduil's ire dangerously risked imploding when the uncouth boy complained that 'no mudbloods died yet.'

Apparently, fifty years ago, a poor girl was not fortunate to become petrified … the girl died. The uncouth boy was informed quite sternly by his Adar to not involve himself in the attacks, and Thranduil finally knew, the Adar Malfoy was the culprit behind the petrification of the Istaris.

It was on that disappointing note that the three disguised Istari fled from the dungeons and into the morbid bathroom chamber with no name behind the attacks and more questions needed to be answered … one fact they mutually agreed on, was that the uncouth boy was not responsible, merely reveling in the fear and danger wreaking Hogwarts.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

An odd day occurred and the trio coincidentally stumbled upon the revolting caretaker yelling about cleaning muck; following the trail of the yelling, they found themselves situated in the morbid bathroom of the moping ghost once again.

Thranduil stared curiously at the diary lying innocently by its lonesome in the puddle of water. Ignoring her comrades' warnings, Electra stubbornly grabbed the book and the trio spent a confusing moment depicting the usage for the blank book with the title of _T. M. Riddle_.

It wasn't written in invisible; the book was merely blank, never having been used.

Overhearing the strange anomaly, the redheaded troublesome twins ambled over to their side and informed them of one of their many detentions in cleaning the trophy room where they stumbled upon a large trophy of T. M. Riddle who had apparently gotten an award for special services to the school _fifty years ago._

Coincidence? Thranduil thought not.

How coincidental must it be for a diary to appear out of thin air thrown away by some Istari, simultaneously when the Chamber of Secrets opened and victims were being petrified … an occurrence that transpired once, _fifty years ago_. Thranduil learned long ago during these odd dreams, that in this strange world, there are no mere coincidences.

Thranduil found it utterly anomalous how Electra carried the empty, unusual diary along with her everywhere; overhearing her casually mention to her comrades that she felt as though it were a long-lost-friend, worried him immensely. Such sentiments were bizarre, and a portentous sensation tugged on the bitter King's heartstrings.

It was the start of Echuir, the Stirring season in the Woodland Realm, and when Thranduil slumbered, he found himself awakening to the revolting scene of the Great Hall lavished in atrocious frills of pink and lurid paper shapes drizzling from the ceiling depicting the weather outside the castle.

The blonde phony himself donned lurid pink garments with a ridiculous smile on his smarmy face, announcing to the Istaris a sickening speech.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" This holiday apparently, was one that lovers celebrated, and adorers proclaim their love to one another, bequeathing gifts to one another. That phony received forty-six cards from sycophantic mindless females. As though that weren't horrible enough, the phony hired a dozen surly-looking dwarves who retain zero resemblance to the dwarves of Arda.

Imagining the expressions on Thror, Thráin and Thorin's visage, Thranduil vividly assumed them taking this to be one of the deepest offense; they were adorned with golden wings and carrying harps, ordered to sing ridiculous love songs and gifts to the Istaris like infatuated fools.

The dwarves of this world would make a mockery of the Line of Durin, and Thranduil grimaced, recalling Dobby the house-elf. It seemed that this magical world differed entirely from Arda, especially in regard to the Race of Elves and the Race of Dwarves.

Electra and Lavender received many Valentines from the opposite gender, much to their ire. It was quite mortifying to be halted endlessly throughout the day, being serenaded ridiculous limericks and sonnets and blockaded from entering their classroom in time.

Such a disastrous event occurred when Electra tired of all the blockage and ignored one of the many dwarves that called on her for the umpteenth time that day, resulting in a broken book bag and ink smashing all over her books, engulfing them in ink. Coincidentally, that unintentional event solved the riddling enigma of the blank diary, and the results were quite appalling.

The diary wrote back and Thranduil knew, deep inside, that it was a result of dark sorcery. Inopportunely to the King's distress, he was unable to converse his suspicions with the young Istari, merely stand by as an observer and watch chaos ensue.

The kind and gentle giant, Electra's very first and foremost friend, was expelled due to the attacks fifty years ago. The owner of said diary, Tom, showed Electra a memory of his from fifty years ago when he caught Hagrid to be the perpetrator of the attacks.

"That's preposterous; a spider is _not_ responsible for these attacks. Spiders don't petrify," Lavender was only too quick to point out the obvious fact and Thranduil agreed with the sharp blonde.

"Besides, Hagrid would never harm a fly. This Tom person caught the wrong person," Neville loyally added.

Incensed over the expulsion of an innocent, Thranduil observed Electra share the exact sentiment. The trio mutually agreed on probing the giant if another attack occurred.

Oddly enough, seasons passed and there had yet to be another attack, and although Thranduil was relieved, he couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that ominously trailed the young Istari he had grown fond of, around the castle.

Thranduil gaped in shock upon witnessing the shambles and destruction of the girls' dormitory; somebody had pilfered through Electra's possessions, purposely searching for the blank diary.

Reservations arose; Lavender vehemently pointed out that only a Gryffindor knew their password, unless somebody from another house had them steal the diary which was doubtful. Also, those from the male gender were unable to enter the female dormitories. Hence, the conclusion of the pilferer being a female Gryffindor, and unfortunately, there were many unsuspecting suspects who could have carried out the dastard deed.

The next Quidditch match was against the yellow house, all of whom feared Electra, believing her as the culprit behind the attacks; King Thranduil observed as the cat lady cancelled the game for reasons unknown, and a part of the bitter King felt relief nobody would attempt in harming her, as such had become the routine for nearly every broom flying game.

Curiously, the young Istari heard a hissing noise threatening to maim and kill just before the cat lady interrupted … nobody else _but_ Electra had the ability to hear the ominously sinister voice … Thranduil concluded this so-called monster in the Chamber of Secrets to be a snake, be it mythical or factual.

What sort of snake could slither unseen and petrify students with the intent to kill? Thranduil was oblivious to the magical creatures existing in this strange world of Earth, however he assured it was dangerously volatile, and a snake no young Istari should approach.

King Thranduil observed the trio sit morosely in the common room after the announcement of the bushy-haired beaver's petrification came to light. Not that the three were friendly with the bossy know-it-all, but their house loyalty and compassionate personality had them solemnly grieving.

Smacking a hand onto his forehead, Thranduil glared in a mixture of resignation and annoyance when the trio grabbed the Invisibility Cloak that belonged to James Potter and mutually decided with such aggravating confidence that the time to visit the giant and garner answers was at the current predicament, _after curfew_ and _after_ a student got attacked.

Those children would end up being the death of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm … they hold no caution for themselves, only toward protecting others, and while many would call it a humble trait, Thranduil called it sticking their nose where it doesn't belong with no care over whether or not they lived or survived. Thranduil desperately wanted to berate them and give a tongue-thrashing of a lifetime … Thank Eru, Legolas never troubled him so during his adolescence.

The giant was trembling, anxiously alternating eye contact from the trio to the windows, as though he were harried over something. Something he greatly feared. But of course, the giant barely berated them for being out of bed … no, he began offering cake and tea.

Before Thranduil could burst a vessel, a loud knock echoed, and the trio hastened over to the corner under the fireplace, throwing the cloak around them, out of sight.

Thranduil indolently leaned against the fireplace, gazing with unamused eyes at the outlandishly bizarre-dressed man who entered alongside the Headmaster; with the King's impeccable hearing, he overheard the young Istaris short conversation, discovering the strange man to be the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

The _minister_ looked impeccably unimpressive in the warrior King's eyes… he looked to be a coward, hiding behind others in confrontation with a horrible vision of fairness. All in all, King Thranduil judged the 'Minister' to be horrendously inept in a high-ranking position.

Thranduil sucked in a sharp intake of breath upon uncovering the outlandish man's reason for barging into the giant's hut at the ungodly hour. The attack against Muggleborns escalated and the Istaris were pressurizing him to act upon it.

The kind giant was nothing but collateral damage to this blithering idiot, and Thranduil grimaced, imagining a body from the Race of Men in a high-ranking position, ruling unfairly.

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," the Headmaster instantly announced, and the King found himself nodding in approval, especially when he ascertained the frown sent toward the now blustering fool who began fiddling nervously with that ridiculous hat of his.

Oh, Valar.

The situation merely worsened drastically when the Adar of the uncouth boy arrived, stating that the 'Board of Governors…?' voted the Headmaster into departing the school.

Adept in unearthing lies, King Thranduil glared, noting deftly the victorious smirk that introduced itself onto the elder Malfoy's face. Yes, now he knew without a doubt, the Adar of the uncouth boy was responsible for the attacks currently happening in the castle to further some personal agenda of his.

The giant was terrified of the Wizarding prison Azkaban, wholly frightened he began shaking uncontrollably.

"You will find that I will only _truly_ have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it." Thranduil's eyes narrowed as the Headmaster's eyes focused intently on where the young Istaris were invisibly hidden, stressing each word slowly so that none would miss a word. The old Istari was truly powerful if he noted their position, even when invisible.

Before Thranduil awoke from his deep slumber, the last parting words of the giant reverberated in his mind, "If anyone wanted ter find out some _stuff_ , all they'd have ter do would be ter follow the _spiders_."

Groaning into the palm of his hands, King Thranduil felt a foreboding sensation and he knew that the next events would be stupendously dangerous.

Recalling the peculiar behavior of the spiders after the petrification of the cat, Thranduil reiterated his pervious thoughts …

 _Nothing in this magical world was a coincidence._

 **A/N:** **Did you all enjoy this chapter?**

 **Next chapter will be the last for Book 2, and the start of the Prisoner of Azkaban.**

 **Hermione still got petrified since she is a bookworm preferring to go to the library than watch Quidditch. Maybe a few thought that I'd have Lavender petrified … No. She is a pureblood and not a book fanatic to escape to the library during a game like Hermione did in canon.**

 **For those curious… Lavender took a hair from Daphne Greengrass for the Polyjuice Potion.**

 **BTW! Question for my readers; would you prefer Electra to confront Riddle and the Basilisk alone, or have Neville and Lavender or at least one of them alongside her? Things will be different since they don't have a Ron with a broken wand, therefore I will be changing that scene. Let me know…**

 **R &R.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 11:**

It was a nightmare; no words could describe the crummy situation that befell them. North, South, East and West, the background and environs of where they stood frozenly still, was filled with the gratingly trepidatious echoes of clicking pincers approaching with every breath she exhaled.

As a multitude of anthropophagus, eight-legged, monstrous creatures edged nearer to them, two hands from both sides of her, shot out like a whip and curled around hers in a firm iron grip, whether it be for protection or support, or perchance the relief that they wouldn't be dying alone on this accursed night when all prudence and circumspection got tossed out the window and they rashly decided to take their naïve, monster-friendly friend's advice and rush head-first into danger.

Nonetheless, these hordes of massive specimens where nothing compared to their leader: enormous, cantankerous, blind, and hungry.

Sharp pincers clicked animatedly, breathless with the anticipation of the scrupulous meal they had been starved of for around fifty years. There would be no mercy, no means of escape, and she clutched the supporting hands of the family she created. This was not how it was supposed to end; foolish lion cubs ambushed in the den of heartless abominations before adolescence.

The execution was ordered by the leader, and they were suffocated, surrounded on all sides with not even a gaping hole to maneuver their way out and survive another day. Her life flashed before her very eyes, knowing that not even a corpse would be left behind, narrating their tale of idiocy in exonerating a friend. Loyal to the very end, until death do they part.

Inhaling the last breath of her life, she expected to smell the intoxicating smell of decay and putrid flesh, instead, the familiar and mesmerizing aroma of vanilla, peppermint, summer and pure masculinity impaled her nose buds; it gave her strength and the will to live and survive.

Letting go of the iron grip from her family, emerald eyes snapped open, narrowed into slits and glowed in rage. They would survive this, those monsters be damned … they would not end up as dinner if she had anything to say about it.

Inhaling the familiar scent once again before it dissipated completely from her vicinity, a victorious gleam passed through her body and her valor returned.

They would survive, even if she had to murder every single one of these cruel, unforgiving, wretched abominations from their midst.

 _Twenty-four hours earlier:_

Thranduil's senses were attacked by a foreboding sensation when he drifted into his unconscious state and appeared in the familiar halls of the castle, ethereally gliding alongside his favorite redheaded Istari and her two comrades.

Although the weather outside the castle walls were cheerful and sunny as flowers bloomed and birds chirped under the scorching sun, inside the walls was a different matter completely – a contradiction. There was a gloomy ambience in the air, thick with despair and despondence. Students piled into straight lines, marched safely to and fro from classes with an adult. Paranoia was the dominant emotion of each grown Istari, sharp eyes sweeping the premises and wands outstretched incase the monster appeared in their midst, and conversation was stilted, no happy and mindless chatter was being traded as the school year nearly came to its end.

The uncouth boy however, was despicable as the King of the Woodland Realm observed his casual nonchalance and arrogant demeanor as he strut down the castle halls with a relaxed smirk settled on his pointed and pale face. To revel in danger and the terror of the student body was atrocious, and Thranduil thought it impossible to have such malice toward a young child … until now.

During Potion class with the abhorrent hook-nosed Professor, the uncouth boy could be heard gloating at the top of his lungs with his snake companions about his Adar's success in riding the school of the Headmaster; he even went as far as to miserably comment on the bushy-haired girl conquering death.

"I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by now. Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn't Granger –"those were the exact foul words, verbatim. The King's fists clenched, turning white with rage as his crystal eyes icily glared at the uncouth boy in disgust; to wish upon a child's death was abominable, and he applauded the Gryffindor loyalty when suddenly the youngest male Weasley and Neville threatened a brawl, if only the greasy Professor didn't bark orders at the exact moment.

Thranduil's ire increased, unable to comprehend such vileness in mere children who had yet passed into adulthood. Never before had he experienced atrocious children, far too used in all the millennia's of witnessing such contemptible words and actions from the adults in the Race of Men.

Suspicions arose, and a few Istaris began apologizing to Electra over believing her to be the Heir of Slytherin; even though the bushy-haired girl was no friend of hers, they considered house loyalty to have interfered, although a few were still set in their ways, unfortunately, and wouldn't budge in their blame.

"I say tonight we follow Hagrid's advice," Electra murmured to her comrades after Herbology class.

"Right, 'follow the spiders'," Neville hesitantly replied.

Thranduil hoped beyond hope that the three young Istaris would abandon their investigation, but he knew that they wouldn't allow their giant friend to rot in prison and wished to exonerate his name, as well as halt the incessant attacks. King Thranduil knew that Electra had other reasons, mainly not wanting the castle to shut down as it were her first home and didn't enjoy thoughts of living with her ruthless kin for a long period of time.

"Aren't there supposed to be _werewolves_ in the forest?" Lavender hissed in fear. Thranduil was oblivious to what a 'werewolves' was supposed to be, but in regards to the terrified visage of the blonde girl, he presumed it to be a dangerous and frightful being.

"These children will be the death of me," Thranduil murmured to himself as he followed them into their last lesson of the day. Wide disbelieving eyes glared at the preening blonde nincompoop as he boasted in loud tones over the giant's arrest, claiming the attacks to have come to its end. The Istaris all argued vehemently with the idiotic moron stating his claim to be incorrect, but he was indignantly rebutting the multitude of remarks.

"What a ponce," Lavender snarled in undertones.

 _Couldn't have said it better myself_ , Thranduil sighed inwardly.

Nightfall arrived, and the churn in the King's chest was more pronounced as he followed the three Istaris who had snuck out of the common room under the Invisibility Cloak toward the giant's hut. He prayed for the Valar to halt their suicidal mission and return to the safety of the castle – to no avail.

 _The dog!_ They decided to allow the cowardly dog to accompany them as a means of protection. King Thranduil discerned the three Istaris to be astute, however, in this precise moment, he was cursing their imprudence. Such incaution should not be taken lightly, and yet they buoyancy strolled into the hearth of the forest.

Three beams of light shone on the path, tracking the multiple miniscule spiders scuttling forward from the separate wands of the Istaris. With his impeccable hearing, Thranduil distinguished the breaking twigs, rustling leaves and cautious barely audible footsteps before they halted all of a sudden, three pairs of eyes wandering around the milieus warily.

Lavender's shaky voice filled the silent ambience in whispering yet urgent tones, "Hagrid told us last year _not_ to leave the forest path."

"Hagrid's in Azkaban though," Neville refuted, tightening his grip on his wand. Thranduil noted how the two Istaris glanced at the redhead inquisitively, and a grim smile appeared on the King's face; Electra Amycate Potter had leadership qualities and they looked up to her.

Gulping loudly, the redhead grimly walked onwards in determination, "Hagrid told us to follow the spiders. Come on."

Thranduil groaned aloud, fearing the events that had yet to take place. His instincts were screaming at him to forgo this bleak mission, regrettably, he was cursed to silently abide them like a ghostly spectate, unable to lend them aid.

The King knew not how much time idled by as they trudged deeper and deeper into the illicit forest that housed dangerous creatures, when a loud clicking noise attacked his senses. Mouth agape, crystal eyes unblinking, Thranduil found himself to be horror-struck upon witnessing the monster that blockaded the young ones' path. Multiple clicking resonated in the atmosphere, and a shout of horror escaped the composed King's lips as the monstrous creatures lifted the young ones and the cowardly dog around their middle, scampering in a fast pace down the dark and gloomy path.

The Istaris' yells filled the air as they struggled to release themselves from their captors, and Thranduil ran alongside them, only to halt his procedure upon reaching the warranted destination; the horrified King scrutinized the ridge of a vast hollow that had been cleared of trees, strategizing an escape plan. However, when crystal eyes paused on the horde of monsters, he staggered, recoiling backwards in shock.

The Great Spiders that infiltrated the forest of his Kingdom from Dol Guldur. The damnations which morphed the wondrous Realm of Greenwood into the bleak and gloomy Mirkwood. How in Arda did the Great Spiders travel into Earth? Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and Mithrandir must be notified at once about this anomaly!

Their sting was venomous, and they devoured all flesh from their midst after ensnaring them into their accursed web; the Istaris had no weapon, no sharp blade on their person but their wands and a small repertoire of defensive and combative spells, how are they to escape with their lives wholly intact and unharmed? And what in Arda was the foolish insipid giant _thinking_ when he decided to allow three _children_ , three unarmed and inexperienced _children_ , to face such venomous and monstrous creatures, especially by their lonesome?!

"Aragog! Aragog!"

Of course, the arachnids possess the power of speech, but what had Thranduil confused was Lavender hissing, "Acromantula." Perhaps Earth's Giant Spiders were given a name, different from the species of Mordor and Dol Guldur. But before Thranduil could assess the new information received, from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of an Oliphant emerged in painstaking slow movements. No arachnoids of Arda extended to such an enormous size, and Thranduil began to fear the Istaris' bleak chance of survival.

What the King of the Woodland Realm found to be utterly absurd was the obvious friendship between the 'Aragog' and the giant. The giant's love for monsters knew no bounds, and his mind was in need of severe repair. Just as Aragog doled out the order to kill them, Electra, the valorous redhead interjected desperately, claiming them to be friends of the giant and ceasing all movement, except for the rapid clicking of the disturbing multitude of pincers.

"Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before," the arachnid, Aragog spoke up in slowed raspy tones; Lavender decided to announce her presence in support and informed him of the giant's trouble and how he was sent to prison for the mysterious attacks in the castle walls.

King Thranduil was flabbergasted. Unless his mind was deceiving him, which it was _not_ , he detected worriment seep into the murderous arachnid's voice as he fretfully exclaimed; "But that was years ago. Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They believed that _I_ was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free."

That abomination was kept as a pet? Insipid fool of a giant; last year a _DRAGON_ and that three-headed monstrous dog… now an arachnid …. He feared to discover what next. Oh, Eru.

Angered clicking resonated around the young Istaris once the clumsy boy asked for the true monster, and Aragog began a huge ranter. "I! I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid is my good friend, and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you can see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid's goodness."

Thranduil buried his head into the palm of both hands and groaned, seething in rage as he mulled over the arachnid's tirade. The insipid giant retrieved a mate for a murderous creature; the hordes of flesh-eating, venomous creatures were all the fault of the giant's compassion for lethally vicious monsters. How could the wise Headmaster allow such drastic measure to take place in a school full of CHILDREN, for Eru's sake?

Shockingly, Aragog relayed to the young Istaris that he had _never_ attacked anyone, "It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom…" The conundrum however, was when young Electra asked for the species of the actual monster hidden in the Chamber; a loud outbreak of frantic clicking echoed and many shapes shifted in fear. "The thing that lives in the castle is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go when I sensed the beast moving about the school."

But the brave redhead would not submit without a fight and she urged the dastard spider to speak its name.

"We do not speak of it! We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times." Thranduil pondered the creature that had the possibility of instilling such tangent fear in the hearts of such a monstrous creature; yes, Lord Elrond would be curious of these 'Acromantula'.

Thranduil's hand instinctively reached out for his blade before recalling his inability to interfere; crystal eyes widened, and turned to ice as he frigidly witnessed the accursed Aragog order his children to kill them, stating that he would never harm the giant _only_. The brave, cold King could do nothing but watch in terror as the horde of Giant Spiders surrounded the three fearful Istaris.

He glumly observed Lavender and Neville reach out and grab Electra's hands in support and fear, the three young ones huddling into each other in a protective yet hopeless stance. Thranduil could not allow such a drastic deed to transpire. He flashed over to Electra's side, and stared imploringly at her face, emerald eyes tightly shut in fear.

"Electra! You listen to me! Fight, at arms! Fight. Think of your friends, you three are valorous Gryffindors, do not give up. Fight Electra. Have hope!"

Thranduil sucked in a sharp intake of breath when the redheaded Istari's eyes snapped open just as the horde of Great Spiders were within arm's reach. Emerald green eyes resembled fiery embers as they hardened in determination and she released herself from her friends' hold, whipping her arm out and yelling with confident rage, "BOMBARDA MAXIMA!"

Thranduil watched in awe as five Great Spiders got blasted backwards, their insides eviscerated as pained shrieks filled the air. Electra's action seemed to have a domino effect on her comrades as they too whipped out their wands and three simultaneous yells boomed, "BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" before turning around, calling for the cowardice dog and fleeing from the hollow.

They ran nonstop, only pausing to recast the impressive, explosive spell, banishing a multitude of the venomous creatures from their trail, the path littered with their disemboweled insides. However, the swarm was too huge, and the more they killed, the more appeared, but King Thranduil had faith in the three impressionably skilled Istaris; they were valorous warriors after all.

Once they located the path they were previously warned not to set astray from, a throng appeared and an array of arrows filled the sky, piercing the Great Spiders and halting them from proceeding to follow the young ones. The centaurs had come to their aid.

Thranduil awoke from the fitful sleep, worried for the three Istaris he had grown fond of and cursing the insipid giant's foolishness.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

A fortnight had gone by since that disastrous night, and many discoveries had come alight.

The three astute Istaris uncovered the victim who died five decades ago to be Moaning Myrtle, the annoyingly weeping ghost that haunted the bathroom they concocted the Polyjuice Potion in. Also, they ascertained the monster hidden in the Chamber of Secrets to be a snake.

Of course, an ominous voice only Electra had the capability of hearing and she had the affinity of speaking with snakes. They spent a week searching through many tomes in the library, hoping to identify the monster but to no avail.

Three days before their examination were to take place the cat lady announced that the potion meant to revive the victims from their petrified state would be ready by nightfall. Cheers filled the Great Hall, and the hope that the victims would be able to inform them what had attacked them was instilled.

Thranduil followed the three Istaris once again into the library as they continued their fruitful search for the monster; they were stubborn after all, and would never allow a mystery to go unsolved. Suddenly, Lavender let out a victorious shriek, and they all huddled around an ancient text, the page yellowing with age, and Electra read aloud.

" _Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it."_

The puzzle pieces all fit into place. Thranduil staggered backwards, barely listening to the three Istaris whispering their discovery out in hushed tones and making sense of the attacks. …Spiders flee before it; the arachnoids wouldn't even dare to speak the monster's name. The Basilisk, this King of Serpents kill by eye contact, yet nobody perished because they only witnessed its _reflection_. …The camera, the puddle of water, the decapitated ghost, the mirror … the giant complained to the Headmaster of a culprit killing the roosters…

"This means," Electra's voice awoke Thranduil from his state of shock, "I can't be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin's one too. That's how he's been controlling the basilisk."

And then, as they began throwing assumptions randomly, they arrived to the brilliant conclusion that perhaps the Chamber was located in the bathroom of the moping ghost since her body was located there. Thranduil felt relief consume him when they mutually decided to relay their discoveries to the adult Istaris instead of seeking the Chamber by their lonesome. Unfortunately, they seemed to lead misfortunate lives; the cat lady's voice boomed around the halls, ordering all students to return to their common room, and the three Istaris decided to hide in the small storage space of the staff room.

' _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.'_ The female Weasley girl had been taken hostage in the Chamber; the school was shutting down.

Thranduil wanted to rant and rave when the three Istaris renounced informing the professors and instead darted over to the haunted bath chamber. The moping ghost was only too delightful to share her last moment of life, telling them of the giant yellow eyes that appeared on the tap, and once Electra hissed an illegible word, the sink began lowering and spreading, leaving a large pipe exposed, wide enough for any being to slide into.

"I'm going down there," Electra firmly stated; Thranduil wished he could shake the slim girl and awaken her, bringing back her senses. _Suicidal! All three of them were_. Thranduil massaged his temples and found himself reappearing beside the three Istaris at the bottom, all three gazes locked on a gigantic snake skin of a vivid, poisonous green.

"The Basilisk must have shed its skin," Lavender whimpered, clutching onto Electra and Neville. But before any words could be traded, a loud thump resounded from behind them, and all three of them whipped out their wands at the sight of the disheveled blonde fraud.

"Professor… what are you doing here?" Neville hesitantly asked, standing protectively in front of the two girls. Thranduil's eyes narrowed into slits at the wand raised toward them … the fraud admitted all his past illegal deeds, boasting his deftness in memory charms. He sinisterly admitted to taking the credit to all past brave warriors and informed them of his unforgivable scheme. Thranduil snarled at the blonde fraud's next words; "The adventure ends here children. I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl and that you three _tragically_ lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body. I have to thank you Electra Potter, without your parselmouth ability, this all would have been impossible – say goodbye to your _memories_!"

But as the fraud yelled _'Obliviate'_ , Lavender – brilliant girl – swiftly grabbed a compact mirror she never went anywhere without, and held it over her head. The jet of light made contact with the mirror and reflected backward onto the fraud, hitting himself with his own spell. Unfortunately, the backlash caused a massive explosion and great chunks of rocks separated the redhead from her friends.

After a long moment of arguing with each other, they regrettably concluded to shifting the rocks as Electra ambled by her lonesome to rescue the girl. Thranduil spewed a mouthful of eloquent curses as he grudgingly followed alongside her and into the ill-fated Chamber of Secrets.

With her heart on her sleeve, Electra dashed forward to the fallen girl checking her pulse and breathing. Thranduil cautiously ambled by, searching the surroundings for the culprit and pausing at the giant statue of a face before a voice spoke up, attracting his attention to the strange boy that stood before the two female Istaris.

"She won't wake." The boy looked barely into adulthood; he was tall, black-haired and was leaning causally by a pillar with utmost nonchalance, and suspicion arose in the bitter King. He looked peculiarly out of place as he noted the blurred edges of the boy.

"Tom – _Tom Riddle?_ " Electra gasped; suspicion increased. The boy was supposed to be old; the diary belonging to him was made five decades ago, meaning the boy should not look so young. Thranduil vigilantly listened to every word that escaped the strange boy's mouth; not a ghost, but a memory _preserved_ in the diary … that seemed odd. And then, the truth came pouring out.

Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber and attacked the children, setting the basilisk onto them and murdered the roosters, writing the messages on the wall. This _boy_ possessed her as she wrote in the diary for long periods of time, losing her mind in the process. Tom Riddle caused a chill on Thranduil's spine; he seemed ominously evil. The laugh that erupted from him was maleficent; finally, he admitted his anxiousness in meeting Electra, and the foreboding sensation increased tenfold.

"Killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore. For many months now, my new target has been _you_. I have many questions for you, Electra Potter." Ginny informed Tom every quality of the redhead Istari, such as her compassion and inability to allow anyone to come to harm. Her pure heart would urge her to rescue the younger girl in a heartbeat, and Tom relied on that. "How is it that _you_ – a skinny, albeit beautiful girl with no extraordinary talent – managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did _you_ escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

Why so curious? The Dark Istari, according to Electra, was after his time; Thranduil's perfectly sculpted brows knitted into confusion before his crystal orbs widened in recognition and malice when the wicked boy raised Ginny's wand and wrote into the air.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

To what lengths did this handsome adolescent go to transform himself into the vile, disgusting reptilian figure he witnessed last year? _Dark sorcery_!

Thranduil gaped at the irony; this boy, the evil Dark Istari, had a muggle father, yet he has a dogma against all Muggleborns and Halfbloods, when he himself was one! All this killing, genocide and megalomania, all because his father had never accepted him and abandoned his mother before his birth? How atrocious, how ironic, how … _wrong_.

Bile threatened to expel when Tom causally admitted to murdering his Adar. King Thranduil was horrified with the discovery. He may be a bitter King, strict and overbearing, stern to his beloved son, Legolas, but he couldn't imagine his henig turning a blade upon him.

"I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

 _Arrogant fool!_

"You're not!" Electra suddenly screamed venomously, " _Albus Dumbledore_ is the greatest wizard in the world. You're just a wishful has been, one dead-set on homicide and genocide because you suffer from extreme daddy issues. You're sick and you're foul and you're just _pathetic_. You never dared to take over Hogwarts with Dumbledore around, you fear him and with reason since he saw _right through you_."

Thranduil was torn betwixt approval for her chivalry and valor, or worried for her life as she riled the boy. Tom's face morphed into an ugly sneer, but before any more words could be exchanged, music filtered the Chamber. A beautiful melodious thrill that seemed familiar and not a moment later, Fawkes the magnificent Phoenix appeared in flames and perched on the young Istari's shoulder after dropping the Sorting Hat by her feet.

The maleficent laughter erupted once more, and he began hissing ineligible words to the facial statue. The mouth opened ominously and Thranduil could barely look upon Electra's frightened visage, his attention consumed by the horrifying monstrous creature that slithered out. The basilisk was seventy feet in length, with yellow bulging eyes and sharp venomous fangs.

The Great Serpent of the North was NOTHING compared to the King of Serpents the young Istari was forced to battle. King Thranduil feared dragon-fire, he who was harmed with the everlasting burn and pain, cursed to roam his life with a glamor and a blind eye. This basilisk could murder with the mere eye contact, one bite and you are sentenced to an immediate death.

 _Oh Eru, save the girl, give her strength!_

Electra blindly ran from the basilisk, unable to administer any spells at the current moment. Thranduil felt useless; what great of a King, a warrior, was he, when all he could do was stand idly by and watch the abhorrently gruesome scene take place. But hope sprung, burning him deeply when the wondrous phoenix blinded the basilisk in aid for the brave Istari, before disappearing once again in flames.

Thranduil nervously watched as the young Istari dove from the Basilisk's tail and grabbed the Sorting Hat, donning it on with her eyes shut in fear. Remarkably, a gleaming silver sword appeared, its handle glittering with sharp rubies the size of eggs. Thranduil gaped unattractively at the sight; what a marvelous swordsmanship, the crafter of this particular sword must be deftly skilled in his profession, and although it was not the appropriate time, Thranduil longed to hold it.

The battle ensued now in fair terms. Electra had the ability to engage the King of Serpents without dying from its gaze now it was blinded, and she held a deft weapon to aid her in its swift death. There was no dragon-fire to harm her, yet the problematic venomous fangs were.

Thranduil observed in prideful awe, as the skinny emaciated Istari – who held no skill whatsoever in wielding a blade – lunged, throwing her whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth. The basilisk screeched, ear-splitting shrieks echoing around the Chamber as it flailed and thrashed around before keeling over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.

 _Electra Amycate Potter slayed the King of Serpents at twelve years of age._

But Thranduil wasn't able to applaud the unimaginable feat as his eyes zoned into the large yellowed fang embedded in her arm, and grief clutched his heart.

"NO!" he roared pain clear in his voice. He uselessly rushed over to her side as she staggered weakly onto the ground, eyes blurring with tears of pain.

"You're dead, Electra Potter," and Thranduil wanted to murder the smug Dark Istari with his bare hands. "Dead. I'm going to sit here and watch you die, Electra Potter. Take your time. I'm in no hurry." Electra slid down onto the ground beside the fallen Weasley, eyes struggling to stay aware, and Thranduil discovered tears running down his face, an action that hadn't happened in over a millennia, ever since the departure of his beloved Lainathiel.

"So ends the famous Electra Potter. Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by her friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord she so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Electra. … She bought you twelve years of borrowed time … but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must…"

Thranduil wanted to throttle him. The Dark Istari did no deed; he took no action but lazily lounged by the pillar, allowing a monster to do the killing for him. How he wished he could hold her in her dying moment, Thranduil felt grief threaten to consume him. Confusion shook him as Electra weakly grasped the accursed diary that reeked of dark sorcery and without warning, plunged the fang into the heart of it.

" _NO!_ " the Dark Istari yelled; Thranduil whipped around in astonishment as he emitted a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted from the diary in torrents, streaming over Electra's trembling hands and flooding the floo as the Dark Istari writhed and twisted before vanishing from the Chamber entirely.

Not long afterwards, Electra released the fang, and slumped onto the ground, eyes threatening to close as her body weakened from the venom.

"No! Electra, no, Eru! Eru, by the Valar, save the child, please," Thranduil sobbed, his silky silver hair curtaining his face.

 _Electra P.O.V:_

She was dying, there was no fighting death and Electra allowed herself to succumb to the lethal poison. If only she could see Lavender and Neville one last time; she never had time to tell them how much she loved them and appreciated their friendship and complete loyalty to her. …Her very first friends; her family.

Ginny would be okay, though; Ginny had six brothers and parents that would miss her, Electra had no one, and a thrill went through her spine at the thought of finally joining her parents who died protecting her.

Closing her eyes, a smile flickered on her face as she enveloped death with open arms. However, a frown knitted onto her brows when she heard a marvelous melodious sound weeping uncontrollably, and she opened her eyes a fraction of an inch.

He was beautiful; he resembled a blonde Adonis with his long silvery blonde hair, pale flawless features, sharp prominent cheekbones, hardened jaw and crystal blue eyes that bore right through her. But … why was the angel crying? Was he perhaps the Angel of Death?

"Excuse me?" Electra choked out, but the angel paid her no heed, and Electra understood, this exquisitely handsome man couldn't hear her. She noticed an ear sticking out and frowned in confusion. Why was it pointed? Who was this angel and why was he crying? It couldn't be for her, could it?

Entranced by his divine beauty, Electra felt herself awakening and she began to frugally search for the familiar faces of her parents, she was excited to revel in their affectionate embrace for the very first time.

" _It's not your time to go, dear warrior,"_ an ethereal feminine voice whispered; Electra had no chance of questioning the oddity as she felt the burning pain of the venom leave her system, and the crying face of Ginny Weasley loomed over her.

A gasp escaped her lungs and she shot up into a sitting position; she wasn't dead … she was alive, but-, " _Fawkes_?"

 _Thranduil P.O.V:_

Thank Eru! Thank the Valar!

The marvelous phoenix saved her. How could he have forgotten, 'phoenix tears have healing powers.' Thranduil's red-rimmed eyes speculated the phoenix as he followed the two Istaris out of the Chamber, his thoughts suddenly revolved around the poisonous effect of the Morgul-blade.

Athelas was known to slow down the poisonous effect; basilisk venom was deadly with no cure … could it be … was it possible … did Phoenix tears have the capability of healing Morgul poison? He would definitely discuss this with Lord Elrond, who, as a healer would find great interest in such a predicament.

The events of the tiresome night flashed by in a rush; Dobby the house-elf belonged to the uncouth boy's family, and King Thranduil was proven correct in his assessment, the Adar of the uncouth boy planted the diary in the youngest Weasley's cauldron. Pride filled the bitter King however, when Electra tricked the evil Adar into freeing the poor house-elf.

This year proved to be quite the challenge, and the bitter King of the Woodland Realm hoped for the coming year to pass peacefully by with no problems.

One could only hope …

 **A/N:** **OMG! This chapter took me a long time to write. It was a very important chapter and I wanted to narrate it perfectly. Did I succeed? Please tell me I did?**

 **How did you like Thranduil's reactions? There were a lot of references to Arda, huh.**

 **Also, did you like Electra's P.O.V? She sensed Thranduil in both events … let me know what you think. I hope I depicted it well. XD**

 **Next chapter; we will witness a meeting between King Thranduil, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir/Gandalf discussing the events of this chapter, AND we start the third year: Prisoner of Azkaban.**

 **R &R.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 12:**

Thranduil sat in his Throne Chamber, pondering the events of the young Istari he had grown, so utterly fond of with each passing day. A week had befallen since the end of the catastrophic second year at the castle, and her kin were basically overlooking her, prompting a pronounced smirk to curl on his lips; it was palpably probable, the old Headmaster and Lavender's brother's verbal threats managed to settle in the obese man's non-existential brain.

A genteel knock on the door snapped the King from his deep trance. "Enter." The magnificent ornate door slid open fractionally, and his butler, Galion appeared, bowing lowly before reverently announcing, "My King. Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir have arrived."

Once the four intimidating individuals made themselves comfortable, trading cordial greetings and small talk, Thranduil cleared his throat and relayed every single confounding scene he had witnessed. Lady Galadriel concentrated on the images from the King's mind to better comprehend, and her eyes widened impressively.

Mithrandir was the first to break the astonished silence, "The spiders of their world, Acromantula, you say? I do believe they share no familial connections with the Great Spiders of Arda. Semblances they may share, but never have I heard of such an extensive size."

Lady Galadriel dipped her head once in agreement, "From what Thranduil has shared with me, the biggest Acromantula is precisely the size of an Oliphant, and are able to be tamed by mortals. The Great Spiders of Dol Guldur are unreasonable."

Thranduil scoffed, "The three young Istaris could have _died_ if it weren't for a remarkable repertoire of spells and bravery and the last-minute aid from the herd of centaurs. The giant was an insipid fool to send them into the hearth of the dangerous forest." Yes, King Thranduil was still bitter about that particular scene he had been forced to observe, how close the three Istaris were to the end of their mortal and fragile existence.

Elrond's mien had been frozen in astonishment and awe, "What I find remarkable, is that Phoenix! I share a similar curiosity. Could Phoenix tears heal Morgul poison?"

"We have Athelas, Lord Elrond," Mithrandir reminded the healer Lord at once.

"Yes, yes, but Athelas does not aid in such instant recovery. One would still feel the effects of the poison coursing through their veins and remain at a weak stage for innumerable days. This Basilisk poison is deadly and allows you a few minutes of reprieve, however such curious tears of a pure magical creature purges all poison from your system and restores you to your natural strength. If only I could test it against Morgul Poison," Elrond sighed wistfully, his mahogany orbs dilating in excitement and astonishment.

"That possession of the Dark Istari does indeed trouble me. It reminds me of Sauron and his ring," Mithrandir mused lowly to himself, stroking his beard. He would have to think of the similarities and possibilities of such an item being in existence, even though the young Istari destroyed it with the poisonous fang of the King of Serpent.

The shrewd Lady Galadriel scrutinized the Elven King for a moment longer, "What interests me is young Electra's courageous battle with the King of Serpent."

Thranduil swallowed nervously, "For a child in the fragile age of twelve, she holds such valor. To eliminate a Basilisk, a deadly serpent and remain whole is quite a feat. Why, I? A trained warrior with millenniums of experience was permanently wounded to a severe rate by the Great Serpent of the North," he inhaled a shaky breath and managed to suppress his hands from shaking.

Thranduil still suffered from nightmares of dragon fire and his horrid battle with the Great Serpent of the North, hence why he took the cowardly escape and left their dwarven allies of Erebor to flounder by their lonesome. An event the King of the Woodland Realm would always regret and carry the burden of his decision until the end of his immortal life.

"I believe," Mithrandir spoke slowly in a hush, "That we can expect great things from Electra Amycate Potter."

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Days idled by, a fortnight, a month, and Thranduil tediously observed from the shadows as young Electra lounged about in boredom while her kin overlooked her presence except during meals. Electra continued receiving missives from Lavender and Neville, now that the bothersome house-elf, Dobby, whom Electra marvelously and quite shrewdly, managed to liberate from the crude Adar of the uncouth boy at the end of her second year of schooling, wasn't intercepting her correspondences.

The King observed the redhead's cunningness rear its head when she administered a deal with her obese uncle; a missive from the castle arrived like clockwork, however, with the usual listing of necessitates came a permission slip to visit the wizarding village, … _Hogsmeade_. Unfortunately for the young Istari, a guardian's signature was strictly required and with the scheduled arrival of the abominate Aunt Marge – a loathsome woman King Thranduil perceived during Electra's childhood – she brokered a deal, stating that she would act as ordinary as possible if he signed the form by the end of her visit.

The bitter King felt a pang in his chest upon witnessing the young redhead dejectedly conceal all her birthday presents and missives under a loose floorboard and then proceed to send her beloved familiar to remain at Lavender's. Soon enough, conversely, the sorrow transformed into utter distaste and revulsion; he didn't believe it to be conceivable for the hideous mortal, Marjorie to gain more weight that her obese limit, yet he was astounded with the unconceivable. And if his impeccably sharp vision deceived him – the tufts of hair on her upper lip escalated, giving her a masculinity mien.

Not only was her appearance repulsive enough to turn his bowels, but her personality, too. Her figure of speech and manners of conduct toward the young Istari was appalling, and Thranduil believed it would take a miracle for Electra to manage in behaving herself for the totality of seven daytimes. James and Lily Potter sacrificed themselves for the redhead's survival, aiding in the destruction of the Dark Istari for a decade bender, yet the sickening androgynous mortal insulted their detriment, hurling many hurtful expletives carelessly, uncaring of Electra's consideration.

On the third day of the androgynous mortal's sojourn, Thranduil gritted his teeth and seethed once she began conversing about administering corporeal punishment at the ridiculous phony institution Electra's kin lied about her attending – an institution for the felonious and the disturbed. Children were precious and to be adored in regards to the Race of Elves, and to be forced into listening to such a despicable immoral mortal boast in obnoxious tones that the young Istari should be punished severely with a whip vexed the bitter King. Electra, too, was incensed, for her accidental magic introduced itself, shattering the glass of human wine from her chunky hand.

After the close event, the days went by swimmingly, until the very last night, and the fiery pit of Mordor let loose. The obnoxious mortal boomed in loud tones over the valorous James Potter being an inebriated unemployed failure, and the doting martyr Lily Potter being a … _bitch_! If such expletives were let loose in front of the Elven King, Thranduil would demand a duel of honor to the death; Electra, however, lost the last vestige of control and let loose her tempest temper and her magic, literally blowing the obese mortal into the size of a puffed up balloon, floating in the air while her insufferable dog went insane.

The young Istari was left with no choice, but to grab her belongings and escape the tormented house, colliding with a strange dog before a purple double-decker vehicle approached her. The _Knight Bus_ – what a curious name – Thranduil adamantly despised the present magical transportation; not only was the driver reckless, but it achieved maximum speed causing Electra to tumble backwards and hit her head on the railing a multitude of times.

Thranduil hoped the young Istari's third year at the castle would be one of complete tranquility – oh, how he hoped – unfortunately, the Dark Istari's most ruthless and faithful follower managed to spectacularly escape the wizarding prison Azkaban. Sirius Black, according to the conductor, was the first to have ever succeeded in escaping the impressible protected fortress, and was finally caught when he murdered twelve mortals with one curse, laughing uproariously as they escorted him away to imprisonment; King Thranduil felt an ominous ambience in the air, nothing that boded well for the young Istari.

The proof Thranduil needed was when the idiotic bumbling fool of a Minister had the young Istari vow not to enter 'Muggle London' once she arrived at the wizarding district. Thranduil was adept in detecting falsities – the fool of a Minister was concealing matters of utmost importance from the young Istari, and due to the millenniums of honing his shrewdness, the King _knew_ it was related to the recently escaped renegade.

The forthcoming days went by peacefully; Electra spent every waking moment educating herself in her studies and ambling around the Alley, casually loitering into the myriad of stores until the day she was to board the train approached. The Brown family escorted her, and Thranduil wasn't able to repress the fond smile upon overhearing the bubbly blonde laugh boisterously about the blowing up of Marjorie Dursley.

"Electra," Lenord Brown suddenly called out as Lilac Brown embraced the two female Istaris farewell, "I would like to speak to you about something before you leave."

The conversation that followed chilled the Great King Thranduil to the bone.

Sirius Black escaped twelve years of imprisonment to come after Electra in vengeance for conquering his master, the Dark Istari. The supposition came from the admittance of the Azkaban guards informing the fool of a Minister, that Black had been mumbling repeatedly in the deep recess of his slumber, ' _at Hogwarts … at Hogwarts …_ ' The deranged Sirius Black hypothesized that the murder of Electra Amycate Potter would miraculously bring back the Dark Istari, and for that reason, the Azkaban guards shall be surrounding the castle to protect the young Istari from the deranged escapee's murderous intents.

 _Why in Eru did I have confidence in this year being one of quietude?_ It seems that every year, the young Istari was cursed to face perilous paths.

Thranduil felt pride consume him upon observing the young Istari's fearless mien, and once the three comrades allocated a compartment that consisted of a lone adult slumbering, she informed the other two Istaris, "Sirius Black can't be any worse than Voldemort, can he?" Thranduil proposed the redhead made a valid point, however, he too, agreed with Lavender and Neville once they warned her not to take Black lightly. Apparently, according to Neville, the deranged escapee was a top-security prisoner.

In all honesty, if the deranged Black could breakout of Azkaban prison – a fortress that had never been broken out of before – then he could undeniably, _without a doubt_ , break _into_ Hogwarts.

After the morbid subject of another individual being after the young Istari's blood came to fruition, Thranduil lounged lazily as the threesome conversed inanely. Nothing seemed amiss … until all of a sudden, the vehicle halted in its movement and the luminosities abruptly ceased, illuminating every compartment with complete darkness.

"I think people are coming aboard," Neville nervously whispered; Thranduil's sharp orbs narrowed onto the disturbance, his brows knitting in confusion upon witnessing the oddly hooded figures _gliding_ alongside the passageway. One of the cloaked figures barged into the compartment, and a wide-eyed King observed as a slimy, rotten and scabbed gray hand that resembled decaying and putrid flesh protrude from within the cloak.

"NO!" Thranduil bellowed in despair; the peculiar monstrosity was somehow harming the young Istari. Electra was twitching and writhing as she fell off her seat and onto the ground, her ethereal emerald orbs rolling into the back of her lids, her skin turning pallor, and her plump lips agape in a silent anguished scream.

 _What sort of devilry is this?_

Thank Eru, an adult had been converged in the compartment alongside them and he rapidly whipped out his wand, " _Expecto Patronum_!" a wispy silver form erupted from the other end of the wand and charged onto the monstrosity, casting it out of the compartment. The bitter King, apoplectic with violent rage and concern, helplessly observed as Lavender, Neville and the weary-looking adult kneeled down next to the unconscious Electra, just as the train began momentum and the lights flickered on.

"W-What- what happened?" Electra groaned, blinking groggily and slowly being helped up onto her feet. The adult distributed chocolate, informing them that it would help counteract the effects of the … _Dementor_. The monstrosity was a Dementor – the guards of Azkaban; Thranduil seethed once more; how could the fool of a Minister allow such detrimental abominations to protect the castle filled with defenseless children, as well as Electra from the deranged escapee when one of them nearly obliterated her from the face of the Earth?

 _A safe year at Hogwarts was definitely out of the question!_

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Thranduil glared at the uncouth boy as he vociferously made a mockery of Electra during their first day of education at the castle for fainting upon being in the close proximity of a Dementor. The King wished he could throttle the uncouth boy – never before had he felt such strong animosity and disdain toward a child … until Draco Malfoy's ill-fated birth.

The day before, once the horde of Istaris arrived for the Feast, the cat professor beckoned Electra, Lavender and the bushy-haired bookworm into her office. Apparently the three young girls had elected more lessons that the itinerary allowed, and so, a marveled item was to be distributed. Electra and Lavender both elected Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as extra courses, and were given one Time-Turner to share due to their intimate friendship. However, upon attending the initial Divination class of the year, Thranduil could palpably sense their regret.

The class _and_ the instructor were both a mockery.

Professor Trelawney radiated fraudery and within the first few minutes of listening to the emaciated mortal speak in misty tones, Thranduil wished for an escape. The blasted woman wouldn't cease her incessant blathering of foretelling the young Istari's death once she located a 'Grim' in her teacup. The bushy-haired bookworm adamantly argued with the emaciated woman, vehemently accusing her of being a fraud much to the russet-colored twin's ire who seemed to worship the fraud.

"You know, I really was looking forward to studying Divination," Lavender grumbled in utter annoyance as the three comrades descended from the classroom and ambled toward the Transfiguration classroom, "That was until we were given a sham of a Professor!"

Electra proceeded in admitting to the other two Istaris that she had in fact, stumbled upon a Grim when she escaped the residence of her kin. Thranduil suddenly recalled the shaggy malnourished dog, but he somehow doubted the creature depicted her upcoming death – or so he hoped. The House of the Lions nerves was frazzled, until the cat lady scoffed aloud, and profusely informed them, that Sibyll Trelawney had a routinely ritual of selecting a certain student each year and depicting their death repeatedly. Suffice to say, Lavender Brown was vehemently disappointed with the subject she had been most looking forward to attending.

The first day of lessons took an abrupt turn when the uncouth boy ruined the giant's first class of teaching when he foolishly insulted the enthralling Hippogriff – a creature with the body of a horse and head and wings of an eagle; Thranduil was confident that Mithrandir would be most astonished by the existence of such a creature. Hippogriffs were a proud creature, and the giant explicitly warned the Istaris to _never_ insult them – the uncouth boy, envious of the three comrades' success, fervently contradicted the giant's warning, landing him in the Hospital Ward.

Thranduil proceeded to follow the three Istaris into the giants hut and overhear them vow to save Buckbeak the Hippogriff from the uncouth boy's Adar before the inebriated giant awoke from his drunken haze and bellowed at Electra for being out after dark when the deranged escapee was out and about.

After that tragic first day back into the castle, the days idled by; the three Istaris studied together and became progressively deft in their subjects. Electra and Lavender tired slightly from the constant usage of the Time-Turner, yet with Neville's loyal aid, they managed to persevere. In fact, the months were pleasantly dull for a change, with no perilous dangers and no abruptions until the wondrous holiday of Halloween supervened.

The young Istari felt gloomy due to her inability to visit the village with her friends; the cat professor denied signing her form, informing her that with Sirius Black on the loose and her being the target, it was best for her to stay ensconced in the protective safety of the castle walls. Lavender and Neville were guilt-ridden as they departed and promised her many sweets once they arrived in time for the Halloween Feast. Thranduil followed her depressing form like a specter around the empty castle until the familiar voice of the weary professor, Remus Lupin called her and invited her into his office for a cup of tea.

King Thranduil actually preferred this defense mentor from the previous two; he seemed to adore the students and was actually a skilled instructor showing no preferences and bigotry, unlike the hook-nosed abhorrent professor. However, Thranduil observed a myriad of moments where the weary professor would stare entranced at the young Istari with a fond smile as though he had some sort of connection with her – much to the bitter King's confusion.

The afternoon ensued swimmingly with inane conversation and a few bouts of laughter, until the hook-nosed abhorrent professor intruded with a smoking cauldron filled with an intricate potion. According to the weary Lupin, it was concocted for him due to his poor health, but the King observed the suspicious mien of the young Istari and later on, during the Feast, she regaled to her two comrades that 'Snape might be poisoning him'. It didn't escape Thranduil's shrewd eyes that the abhorrent professor continuously glared at the weary Lupin with utmost hatred that spoke of years of enmity.

If only the days continued to idle by tediously; upon concluding the feast, the Gryffindors tiredly marched toward the common room, only to cease at the cacophony erupted from the crowd; the portrait of the Fat Lady was slashed violently, chunks of debris scattered on the ground, and they immediately beckoned for the presence of the Headmaster. Not long after his arrival, it was discovered that Sirius Black caused the mayhem. The Fat Lady profusely rejected his admittance into the Common Room, and incensed, the deranged escapee viciously slashed her portrait with a crude knife.

How in Arda did Sirius Black manage to get passed the Dementors and the many protections Hogwarts had to offer? Did the deranged escapee lose track of time due to his twelve years of imprisonment and insanity? Why would he try breaking into the Gryffindor Common Room during the Halloween Feast when his target was obviously surrounded by a crowd in the Great Hall?

The enigma revolved around Thranduil's sharp mind; yet he obtained more questions instead of answers, and the foreboding sensation became even more pronounced at the perilous and confounding happenstance.

 _Was it purposely done, or a mere coincidence that Sirius Black tried breaking into the Gryffindor Common Room when the assumed target was in the Great Hall?_

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Scrutinizing the redheaded Istari in worriment, Thranduil regarded that she looked so frail, so tiny; her heart-shaped face was so pallid, her rosy lips dulled to a greyish tint and fear gripped the bitter King's heart as he recalled the terrifying event that landed the vivacious Istari into her unconscious state, seeking immediate treatment in the Hospital Ward.

The uncouth boy displayed such marginal cowardice, using his alleged ailed arm from Buckbeak's attack as an excuse for the Slytherin's inability to take part in the Quidditch match against Gryffindor; and so, the House of the Lions played against the Badgers under a raging, tumultuous storm.

The wind was so strong, so violent, that the tiny form of Electra continuously staggered sideways in mid-air, unable to keep a steady hold onto her broom. Thranduil lost count over how many times his heart leaped upon witnessing the battle of Electra against the raging tempest. In all actuality, it was a miracle the frail Istari managed to keep ahold of her broomstick and not get dragged into the wind, lost amidst the horrid weather.

Finally, the redheaded Istari located the golden snitch at the exact time the Badger Seeker did, and while both of them battled for the golden walnut, crystal blue orbs widened in fear at the swarm of Dementors charging toward the frail Istari and giving off an eerie, shivering air of hopelessness and morbidity. She lost the battle, and Thranduil felt helpless, unable to aid a lending hand as he watched the Istari he was growing so very fond of, lose control of her faithful broom and fall down the icy mist from over fifty feet.

The old Headmaster immediately whipped out his wand, his wizened face morphed into palpable fear, and slowed her fall, landing her efficiently on the ground, yet the damage had occurred. Gryffindor lost, Electra lost her very first game, her broomstick was damaged beyond repair after hitting the dangerous Whomping Willow, and the redheaded Istari was wallowing in depression. Thranduil finally ascertained the reason why the Dementors had such a compelling effect on the Istari; Electra had suffered many travesties, the abominating monstrosities reveled in them and forced her to relive her most horrifying memories – the death of Lily Potter; Lily Potter pleading the Dark Istari to spare Electra's life and take hers in trade.

King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm was rendered speechless; no words could describe how his heart ached for the young Istari who had already suffered immensely. The bitter King could not imagine how the young Istari must be feeling; she who had no memories whatsoever of her dead parents, and yet, the initial moment she heard them, would be in their dying moment.

For a fortnight, the King radiated an air of immense melancholy, and Legolas was dumbfounded when his Adar insisted he take a break from his Princely duties and accompany him for a day of frivolity. Legolas knew better than to question his Adar's unfathomable disposition and merely took advantage of the rare opportunity that was given to him.

King Thranduil was a flawless elf with devastatingly handsome attributes, charming qualities despite and impeccable deftness and valor, despite his hardness, impassivity and icy demeanor, however, Prince Legolas couldn't help but notice that his Adar seemed to be extremely desolate and despondent during the entire preparation for the Winter Ball, and for the first time in centuries, he was worried over the well-being of his Adar and the perseverance of his fëa.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Rhíw (Winter) approached; Lavender and Neville insisted on remaining at Hogwarts with Electra for the holidays, and Thranduil smiled fondly at the impenetrable bond of friendship between the three comrades. Unfortunately for the redheaded Istari, another visit to the village was scheduled and the depressed Istari ambled aimlessly around the castle until the allotted time of arrival.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the mischievous Weasley twins as they quietly beckoned her forward in the direction of a hidden alcove next to a peculiar statue of a hump-backed, one-eyed female. Though Electra's mien screamed wariness, she acquiesced and assembled toward them, and they bequeathed her with a plain piece of parchment.

He was fondly reminded of Elrond's twins, Elrohir and Elladan. They shared many similarities, particularly the gleam of mischief profoundly in their orbs and the identical smirks of amusement.

"This, Ellie, is the secret of our success," one of the twins revealed, patting the curious parchment fondly. The other twin fluently continued, "It's a wrench, giving it to you. But we decided last night, your need's greater than ours. You, Lav and Nev would make great use of it."

To the bitter King's utter astonishment, they tapped their wand on the empty parchment and chanted, ' _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_.' And all of a sudden, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point the wand had touched. The ink lines joined each other, crisscrossed and fanned into every corner of the parchment until words began to blossom across the top in great, curly, green words that pronounced:

 _ **Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs**_

 _ **Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present**_

 _ **The Marauders Map**_

The map portrayed every detail of the castle and grounds, as well as tiny ink dots with minuscule writings, depicting where every individual of the castle were situated. Thranduil was flabbergasted and devoid speechless once again due to such incredible feats and creation of magic. The twins educated the young Istari on its usage, informing her of the many secret passageways out of the castle and into the village, and finally how to erase it, ' _Mischief Managed._ '

There was no question over Electra's next course of action, and although Thranduil was concerned over her wellbeing and safety, he was given no choice but to follow alongside her to the statue of the one-eyed female and into the village where the long-winded trail led her into a sweet-shop filled to the brim with the most marvelous delicacies.

Lavender and Neville were both, ecstatic over her sudden appearance and excited with the future usage of the map where they would be able to create mayhem without ever being caught, much to Thranduil's exasperation. It seemed that the three comrades were more like triplets, and they too, shared mischievous similarities to Elrohir and Elladan; they would get along like a house on fire.

Thranduil was mesmerized with the village and the cheerful ambience it radiated. The immaculate sights and stores were radiant, much impressive like the Hogwarts castle; yet, the bitter King wasn't able to wander about and enjoy the scenery as the three Istaris made a beeline into a specific store called 'The Three Broomsticks'.

Unfortunately, the cheerful atmosphere came to an abrupt culmination upon discovering the professors and the Minister sitting in the booth beside them, and almost instantaneously, the two friends yanked Electra under the table where they unashamedly eavesdropped on their heated conversation.

The cat lady, the diminutive Charms professor, the giant, the fool of a Minister and the stunning bartender of the store, congregated together, their heads leaned forward conspiratorially, discussing in obnoxiously loud tones about Sirius Black, the deranged escapee. The resulting discovery of the overheard banter had King Thranduil seething in apoplectic rage, while he alternately glimpsed at the three bewildered and gobsmacked Istaris in pity.

Sirius Black was not only a lethal follower of the Dark Istari – _No!_ He was James Potter's best friend, both ringleaders of their gang and inseparable, _and_ Electra Amycate Potter's godfather. The deranged escapee not only murdered twelve mortals in cold blood, but he betrayed the Potter's location to Voldemort, aiding in their death and Electra becoming an orphan.

Apparently, Albus Dumbledore informed the Potter's that they were a target and aided them in hiding their house from detection using a curious Charm: the Fidelius Charm. Only the trusted Secret-Keeper could divulge the secret of their location – Sirius Black was the unfortunate Secret-Keeper and a spy.

The giant went into a raging fit afterward, roaring at the top of his gigantic lungs that he was the one that gathered young Electra from the dilapidated remains of the cottage – a scene King Thranduil had been cursed into observing; Sirius Black vehemently argued over him being Electra's godfather and chosen guardian, but at the end, offered his bike and escaped. The Fool of a Minister relayed that other than the twelve mortals, the deranged escapee murdered one of their best friends, Peter Pettigrew where nothing remained but a mere finger.

Although Thranduil was suspicious over the entirety of the conversation and the confusing lack of facts, rage consumed him.

Cowardice was an unattractive quality, yet one trait the bitter King could never tolerate nor forgive, was betrayal.

King Thranduil despondently witnessed the broken-hearted redheaded Istari weep heart wrenching cries into the crook of Lavender's neck, sandwiched on the other side by an incensed Neville. His heart shattered; to discover your godfather – one meant to protect you, cherish you and love you – aided in the murder of your parents was awful, and Thranduil was unsure over how much more the valorous yet broken Istari could take.

 _But then, why in Valar's name did Thranduil find the eavesdropped conversation to be most peculiar? Why in Eru was King Thranduil unsure over the lack of facts?_

Suspicion aroused in the shrewd King's mind, and for some reason, he speculated that there was more to the story.

 **A/N:** **Sorry for the wait, Dear Readers!**

 **How did you like this chapter? I know it is not much, but Prisoner of Azkaban doesn't have much action until the end.**

 **Explanations: (1) Both Electra and Lavender took extra courses and so, they are both sharing the Time-Turner. However, Neville is their best friend, and although they swore they wouldn't tell anyone, Neville doesn't count. In canon, I hated how Hermione hid it from Harry and Ron while she gets angry when they keep something from her. In my opinion, best friends share everything, therefore, in my story, Electra and Lavender immediately confided in Neville. (2) Lavender still has an interest in Divination, but when a teacher keeps on predicting her best friend's death, it would put her off, don't ya think? I find it hard to depict Lavender as a Sibyll Trelawney worshipper while she continues to predict Electra's death, on and on, and on. (3) When I first read Prisoner of Azkaban, I will admit, I found Sirius Black to be guilty and actually thought he betrayed the Potters. BUT I found the conversation in the Three Broomsticks to be suspicious and lacking evidence. I mean; why would Sirius, a deranged betrayer and Voldemort's second-hand follower, give Hagrid his bike to get Harry to safety? Things don't add up … therefore, the shrewd ElvenKing that has an affinity of spotting lies and weeding out falsities and has thousands of years of experiences would find a few things off in the conversation of Sirius' betrayal. (4) Lavender and Neville would not berate Electra for sneaking out of the castle; they are a different Golden Trio and would make use of the Marauder's Map, even for mischief and mayhem – unlike Harry, Ron and Hermione (who demanded Harry turn it in to McGonagall, I mean WTF?).**

 **Next chapter will be the last one for The Prisoner of Azkaban and then we can finally move on toward the most action: The Goblet of Fire.**

 **R &R.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 13:**

The bitter King's heart went out to the young Istari as he stood idly by, listening to her heart-aching sobs in response to the acknowledged truth. Thranduil was an elf who always thirsted for knowledge, however watching the redhead weeping face-first into her pillow, the phrase 'ignorance is bliss' immediately came to mind. Suddenly, the young Istari rifled through her possessions and clutched an ornate book tightly to her chest before returning to her previous spot on her bed. Recognizing it to be the book filled with images of her deceased parents the giant bequeathed to her at the end of her first year, Thranduil curiously approached her, his crystal orbs scrutinizing the specific image Electra paused upon, her fingers lovingly stroking the moving illustrations of James and Lily Potter.

Thranduil identified the certain representation to be the day they had been joined in matrimony due to the embellished background and attires each individual were donned in. The moving portrait evoked sentiments of grief and pity from the bitter King; the last moment of James and Lily he perceived was one of courage before the light left their eyes, yet in the portrait, James Potter enthusiastically waved with a beaming smile, his hazel orbs twinkling with mirth; Lily Potter's mien wasn't twisted in consternation and fear, but alight with happiness. All of a sudden, the young Istari muttered, " _Him_ ," her finger tracing an exceedingly handsome man who looked like nobility contrasting vehemently with the sunken, waxy poster with disheveled hair he viewed before in that monstrosity of a bus.

The days which followed the odious revelation were spent shadowing the aimlessly stumbling Istari and witnessing Lavender and Neville's fruitless attempts in cheering her up. More discoveries came to light in regards to Sirius Black's atrocious betrayal when Neville informed the saddened redhead that Pettigrew's remains comprised of a lone finger, a fact which struck the battle-hardened King as peculiar and utterly bizarre; in battle, a finger being the only remainder of a warrior's corpse was highly illogical.

 _What sort of casted spell destroyed a cadaver but miraculously left behind a perfectly shaped and unblemished finger?_

No. The nature of Peter Pettigrew's death was dubious to the perspicacity Elven-King.

An odd occurrence deviated from the young Istari's melancholic wanderings and Thranduil's ghostly shadowing when Electra _literally_ collided with another Istari garbed in green. But the probable rebuff never befell as the striking Slytherin youth offered the fallen redhead a cordial hand and aided her onto her feet with a benign smile. Thranduil felt his curiosity stir, for ever since he ambled into Hogwarts, every Istari sorted into Slytherin despised his favorite Istari.

 _This Slytherin was not of the norm in regards to his fellow housemates._

The male Istari had an olive complexion, with a pair of indigo orbs that sparkled with mirth in resemblance to the deceased James Potter. His tousled curly hair was the color of midnight black and his smile revealed a row of perfectly carved out dazzling teeth and a slight dimple indented in his cheeks. _Blaise Zabini_. The Istari – Blaise had a lilt when he spoke depicting a differed ethnicity from Electra and ilk.

From that day onward, the two Istaris that came from opposing houses became amicable toward one another and Thranduil observed the redhead's dismal disposition rapidly change into one of absolute happiness. Thranduil was delighted to observe her two companions share a liking to Blaise, who Thranduil realized was a very sarcastic, witty and intellectual boy with a cunning streak, a sharp, acute intellect, and nonchalant in regards to House rivalry and the doctrine spouted by Purebloods, despite him being a respectable and powerful Pureblood of a Noble and Ancient House.

Yule finally approached and Thranduil smiled fondly at the excited redhead who was currently gushing at her bequeathed broomstick to replace her demolished Nimbus. The _Firebolt_ ; the shrewd King found the bestowment of the impressive and expensive broomstick to be highly suspicious, especially when it lacked a missive entailing the sender. A gobsmacked yet concerned Neville threw out the supposition of Sirius Black being the supposed sender; however the redhead and Lavender declared it preposterous for an escaped convict to stroll into the store and purchase the magnificent broomstick. A consternated Thranduil trailed the three excited Istaris to the Quidditch field and his heart practically lurched from his chest in worry when the vibrant redhead leapt onto it, but as her melodious laughter echoed in his ears while she breezed with such uncanny speed in the air, his qualms were put to rest, grateful that there were no surprising hexes on it, and his favored Istari was under no risk of being harmed by the anonymous sender.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

With the Rhíw holiday reaching fruition and the students returned to the castle, the three companions congregated in the library between classes combing through a plethora of books in aid of their giant friend. Thranduil was abhorred with the fact that the majestic beast was at risk of being executed due to the uncouth boy's grave yet intended actions when he insulted the proud … _Hippogriff_. According to the giant, the Adar of the uncouth boy most probably bribed and threatened the bureaucrats to execute the poor creature, and so, the three companions began scouring through previous cases of Hippogriffs, hoping to liberate Buckbeak … an eccentric name, in Thranduil's opinion, for such a grandiose beast.

Many fortnights idled by until one day, the weary professor, Lupin, addressed the young Istari after class in regards to the promised lesson meant for protection against those cloaked abominations that had taken a disturbing addiction to the redhead. Thranduil curiously observed as Lupin explained the _Patronus Charm_ , a spell that is highly advanced magic, yet the bitter King held no misgivings of Electra's success. The redhead had one of the most impressive intellectual minds he ever had the honor of witnessing and along with her determination and stubbornness, Thranduil was optimistic in her triumph.

"How does it work?" the young Istari nervously inquired; crystal blue orbs focused intently on the weary Istari as he eloquently explained the advanced charm. "Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus which is a kind of anti-dementor – a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor." Thranduil suddenly conjured up an odd image of the young Istari wielding Gil-galad's shield against the living shroud at the weary Istari's words. "The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon – hope, happiness, the desire to survive – but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can't hurt it. But I must warn you, Electra, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."

 _Yes, but those qualified Istaris are not Electra Amycate Potter_.

It was a trial and error period; Thranduil itched to burrow her away from the cloaked abomination that appeared to her upon facing the Boggart, and the sentiment surmounted once the repeatedly murmured spell failed to evoke the proper protection and she fainted. The stubborn Istari failed to admit defeat after hearing the brave Lily's death reverberating in her mind, nor did she abandon hope the second time she fainted after hearing James Potter as he courageously stood up to the Dark Istari in his last moment.

"Third time's the charm," Electra weakly informed the weary Istari who probably looked like Thranduil did at the moment. A bubble of laughter however, escaped the bitter King's lips when the third time indeed happened to be a minor success. The redhead failed to conjure a potent patronus, yet she managed to expel a huge, silver shadow from the end of her holly wand. Crystal blue orbs were entranced, raptly focused on the amorphous silvery shadow hovering between the redhead and the living shroud before the now jovial Lupin sprang into action and banished the boggart back into the cabinet.

King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm was astute, adept in detecting lies; so when Electra inquired over a friendship between the weary professor and Sirius Black due to his previous statement of being companions with James Potter, the nonchalant response of them being mere acquaintances had his senses tingling with suspicion. The abrupt nuance in his words and the guilt marring his weary mien was a vast indication of his dishonesty and Thranduil had accomplished weeding out intentionally false statements more than five millennia ago.

The question that unremittedly plagued Thranduil during his conscious and unconscious state however; _precisely what is Remus Lupin guilty of?_

Thranduil shadowed the young Istari and the Delphic Slytherin, Blaise, a couple of days after her private lesson with the weary professor, and when the redhead shamefacedly confessed her desperate urge in hearing her deceased and valorous parents' last moments, the bitter King felt a pang in his chest, unable to imagine the sentiment, yet her revelation spoke volumes of her courage in admitting her weakness. The boy portrayed no judgment whatsoever and merely remained by her side, allowing the sobbing redhead to spill her heart out; Thranduil sensed a budding romance between them, and he vehemently approved of the Delphic Istari's strong and caring character. _Yes, Blaise would be her rock._ For an elf, love was forever and should not be paltered with.

Fortnights passed in a monotonous fashion; the young Istari continued her weekly lessons with the weary Lupin, and socialized with Lavender and Neville, all three of the companions continuing to fraternize with the Delphic Slytherin much to the uncouth boy's ire. Classes progressed naturally, and as days turned into months, the two female Istaris began to tire with the incessant usage of the ingenious Time-Turner on a daily basis; their states were bedraggled, eyes dulled with weariness, and fatigued bags protruded on their miens prompting Neville to take up the task of aiding the giant's majestic hippogriff by his lonesome.

The night before the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, after a productive lesson with Lupin, teacher and student leisurely enjoyed the strange Butterbeer concoction when suddenly, Electra inquired the mystifying question of what lay under the living shroud's cloak.

"Hmmm… well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see the dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon." The weary professor spoke in such a bitter and revolted tone, bringing forth not only the King's insatiable thirst for knowledge, but the redhead's everlasting curiosity. _The Dementor's Kiss? Why on Arda would anybody agree to kiss such an abominable creature?_ Thranduil desperately wished he could erase the response from his memory, for he was too aghast to think properly; "It's what dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and – and suck out his soul."

 _Suck out a person's soul… SUCK OUT SOMONE'S SOUL!_ Such a monstrous abomination should not be in existence. Such a punishment of eternal damnation should be illegal. Those Nazgûl lookalikes should be eradicated! Elrond and Galadriel would be repugnant of such a travesty befalling an individual.

Much to the nauseated King's misfortune, the young Istari's revolted statement of the Dementor's Kiss killing an individual had the weary professor clarify the repugnant action in such a startling and horrifying interpretation. "Oh no, they don't kill, Electra. Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just – exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever. … Lost."

Swallowing back the bile that threatened to expel from his throat, Thranduil willed himself to focus on the conversation taking place, his crystal orbs fixated on the pallid mien and the widened, horrified emeralds on the redhead's cherubic visage. _Nobody deserved to survive as an empty shell … orcs didn't count of course; for they were creatures of abominations and had no soul whatsoever to be sucked out._ For some perplexing reason, Thranduil felt grief when the weary professor revealed the Dementor's Kiss to be the fate that awaited Sirius Black. The asinine, incompetent Minister gave permission to those abominations to perform such a dastard action … and for some unknown reason Thranduil felt a foreboding sensation echoing in his veins. Electra shared the horror; such a captivating and ethereal Istari … never before had Thranduil seen such a pure soul existing, and one from the Race of Men. Sirius Black orphaned the girl, and yet, Electra felt outright horror and sympathy to the convict.

 _Would wonders ever cease?_

Jealousy was the main emotion permeating the air from the sea of green when Electra arrived into the Great Hall with her magnificent Firebolt the next day before the Quidditch match. Except for the Delphic Slytherin who ignored the uncouth boy's venomous threat and ambled over to the redhead's side where he devoured his meal with the three companions. A fond smile appeared on the King's flawless visage when he witnessed the Lion House's acceptance of there being a snake in their midst.

 _Electra Amycate Potter was a glorious sight to be seen, her pureness could amass incredible feats; a centurial rivalry ignored completely without a care._

Naturally, the young Istari located the golden snitch with deft ease, winning the game for Gryffindor; the victorious moment however was ruined by the uncouth boy, leaving King Thranduil seething with apoplectic fury. The blasted simpleton of a human being and his utterly moronic associates garbed on a hooded black in resemblance to a living shroud and portrayed two dementors in the hopes of terrifying the redhead and distracting her from the game. With nonchalance, Electra cast the protection spell and caught the walnut-shaped ball with wings and in his blinded fury, had been unable to distinguish the shape her patronus formed. He was slightly mollified when the cat lady berated them loudly with many utterances of promised punishments, thus optimistically concluding the triumphant match.

A bizarre phenomenon had been occurring randomly in the Gryffindor Common Room between the youngest Weasley male and the bushy-haired bookworm; the unattractive feline of the bookworm would incessantly chase the revolting pet rat of Ronald's for some unexplainable reason; the conundrum vehemently baffled the astute King. It was in a cat's nature to chase rats, however a perplexed Lavender stated that in the magical community, the feline's sold in the magical menagerie were trained to _not_ chase a wizard's rat… therein lay the mind-boggling conundrum. The unmethodical incidents were brought to a forlorn end when the ginger let out a horrified yell the other day, dragging his bedspread down with him and hurling it at the bewildered bookworm's face; a spot of blood and a few clumps of the feline's orange hair were the only remains of the boy's pet. Although the loss of a filthy rat was of no importance to the King, he disagreed with the bushy-haired bookworm's blasé nature, unapologetic over her feline's devouring of the boy's pet.

Just as Thranduil guesstimated his abrupt awakening in his chambers in Mirkwood, a guttural roar echoed around the Common Room. With impeccable agility and honed senses hardened by many millennia of battle, the Elven-King gracefully leaped from the dormitory filled with abruptly awakened and bewildered girls, to the Common Room where a lone disheveled and filthy skeletal man sprinted down from the direction of the male dormitories and toward the exit as though his life depended on it, slamming the portrait shut with an audible bang.

With his uncanny eyesight, Thranduil knew without a doubt that the gaunt man was none other than Sirius Black.

Pandemonium ensued once the convict departed; every Istari scrambled out of bed and into the Common Room, all of them awoken by the youngest Weasley male's bloodcurdling scream of terror. The enraged cat lady, for the second time that night, barged in and scolded them for continuing the party, but the young ginger hysterically interrupted, claiming in certainty that Sirius Black stood above him with a knife and a manic gleam in his sunken eyes. Thranduil obviously believed the terrified boy after having seen said convict depart swiftly, and after the disbelieving cat lady questioned the grating knight portrait on Ronald's accusation, the actions of Sirius Black came to light and every Istari was downright frightened.

Poor Neville, with his forgetful memory, his list of the ever-changing passwords was somehow confiscated by the convict, allowing him to enter the protected Common Room. Sirius Black succeeded in escaping from the prestigious castle once again, and tighter security was being administered all around in a flurry of activity over the next passing days. While the clumsy, forgetful companion of the young Istari bemoaned his multiple punishments from both, the incensed cat lady and his foreboding grandmother, Thranduil's astute mind was attacked with a mind-boggling inquiry. _If the emaciated convict escaped the fortress to kill Electra in retribution, then why in Arda did he enter the male dormitories and hold a knife over the ginger boy?_

Once the forgetful companion of the trio quit his complaining, the three companions began puzzling over the same inquiry, and Thranduil was convinced that there was a large gap in the anomaly of Sirius Black's mystified escape.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

 _Werewolves?_

Thranduil vividly recalled the event over two years ago when the trio were penalized with aiding the giant in the pestilential forest due that accursed miniature dragon, and the phrase werewolves had been mentioned in passing with palpable fear. Until this perfervid year, the Elven-King was oblivious to the mysterious creature's purpose; many fortnights ago, the hook-nosed abhorrent professor stood in for the sickly Lupin's class and instructed the young Istari's class on the certain creature and the intellectual King finally discovered them to be a selection of unlucky individuals from the Race of Men inflicted with a bite from the mystifying creature… that specific bite would curse an individual with … _lycanthropy?_ forcing them to painfully transform on the night of a full moon into a monster that could seriously maim, kill, or spread its disease with a mere bite on a victim's frame.

 _An infection._ Thranduil was horrified with such a curse damning an individual to a life of perdition and excruciating agony. Individuals from the Race of Men who, upon the complete rising of the full moon, becomes fearsome and deadly; creatures unable to retain any memories or their human minds upon transformation, and could decimate a friend standing in close proximity without an inkling of who they actually are. Thranduil shivered at such an infection and pitied those poor souls cursed to a gory life, but what shocked the bitter King to the core, was when the three companions – after the second escape of the convict from the castle – discovered that Remus Lupin was infected with the ill-fated lycanthropy.

The motive of the hook-nosed abhorrent professor was evidently clear; the atrocious Istari held a malicious grudge towards the weary professor and hoped the young Istaris in the castle would recognize him to be a werewolf; the trio of companions were the top of their years, and had easily uncovered the truth of their most favorite professor's nature, however, to the abhorrent professor's misfortune, they didn't even have a sliver of bigoted views and instead of fearing the Istari, they pitied him, collectively agreeing to keep the werewolf's secret, never to be uttered. Although the Elven-King feared the close proximity of a werewolf to a castle filled with young Istaris, Thranduil was an astute elf, assured that the Headmaster took a plethora of safety precautions before hiring the infected Istari.

But the trio's unearthing was long forgotten as another trip to the wizarding village, Hogsmeade approached and another plan of sneaking out the castle was hatched. Thranduil shadowed Electra and Neville to the hunchbacked statue where the hidden path to the sweet shop was situated, and he grimaced when the abhorrent professor ambled by with eerie precision. The forgetful boy quivered in fear with the arrival of his greatest fear leaving it up to the redhead to formulate a well-crafted lie, stating that they were merely tediously wandering around the castle with no exact destination. Ordered to return to the Gryffindor Common Room, Thranduil followed the duo as they aimlessly retraced their previous steps while studying the ingenious Map until the abhorrent professor was ensconced in his office.

Watching the duo reunite with the impatient blonde in the captivating village, Thranduil was struck with how mischievous the three companions actually were, probably equivalent to Elrond's frolicsomeness twins. Crystal orbs lit up in amusement when the aforementioned duo began pelting the uncouth boy and his two brainless ruffians with scooped up mud from under the Invisibility Cloak while Lavender collapsed onto the ground while laughing hysterically. The opportunity was too good to miss, but unfortunately, one of the ruffians tripped on the hem of the cloak with his ginormous feet, allowing Electra and Neville's heads to materialize.

Naturally, the uncouth boy wasted no time in complaining about them and the hook-nosed abhorrent professor collided into them before they managed to close the hunchbacked statue and wordlessly escorted them into his office. The situation would have been comical if only the forgetful Istari wasn't extremely frightened of the abhorrent Istari, for when he demanded the Map to reveal its secrets, a myriad of insults formulated onto the blank parchment. Thranduil's ire had been surmounting with every insult Snape spewed in regards to the deceased, courageous James Potter; oh, how he wished to combat him in a spar to the death, but unfortunately he was a ghostly specter and was unable to intervene or offer aid.

 _Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business; Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git; Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a professor; Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball._ Such a marvel; truly, the creators of the magical artifact were ingenious. Thranduil was astonished with the intricate spellwork used to fabricate such an inspired and inventive artifact.

Despite the oppressing conundrum, the young Istari collapsed into fits of hysterical laughter, tears streaming down her magnificent emerald orbs, and even the trembling Istari allowed a few nervous chuckles in the face of the vexed Snape. In a curious act, the abhorrent professor demanded the weary Lupin's presence and Thranduil's sharp orbs caught the stiffening of his stance upon settling a mere glance at the ingenious map, and recognition sparked in his weary amber orbs. In a timely fashion, an out of breath Lavender approached them, vehemently stating that she had bought the joke products in Hogsmeade, and the abhorrent professor was forced to allow them reprieve with no punishment. Thranduil shadowed the three companions and the weary Lupin whose hand was clenched tightly onto the map, and just as they neared the Great Hall, the lax werewolf berated the redhead.

"Don't ask me to cover up for you again, Electra. I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously, but I would have thought that what you have heard when the dementors draw near you would have had more of an effect on you. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Electra. A poor way to repay them – gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks." A grave silence ensued as the werewolf stalked away in fury and although the diatribe was harsh, it was effective. The lively trio spent most of the remaining school year hunched over the case for the giant's magnificent beast's survival, and revising for their end of the year exams. Thranduil however, noted the werewolf's disposition to be peculiar – his mien was lined with palpable guilt, but the perplexing conundrum, was that the guilt wasn't directed toward the redhead… _no_ , the guilt was directed toward an unfathomable supposition.

The Elven-King was thrilled when the Quidditch game between Gryffindor and Slytherin ended with the lions winning the trophy, for Thranduil despised observing the snake's brutal technique on the air. Relieved that the young Istari came to no harm by the brutes, the time spent in his unconscious state was witnessing the trio, sometimes accompanied by the Delphic Slytherin, studying for their exams.

Finally, the exam week approached with none of the ritualistic dangerous predicaments the trio seemed to land themselves into like the previous two years. Thranduil proudly observed their deftness in every test, achieving high scores and administering the practical casting with such ease. Before the last exam, which so happened to be the futile Divination one, the trio received a note from their giant friend stating the hippogriff lost the appeal and was to be sentenced to death – executed in the afternoon. Naturally, the three rebels collectively decided on visiting the giant after the Divination exam, and with a sigh of defeat, Thranduil tailed them to the seventh floor where they were all lined up, awaiting their name to be announced.

Thranduil would have wholeheartedly agreed with the Weasley boy's claim of the professor being a fraud if it weren't for the bizarre and outrageous incident that took place when the young Istari's name had finally been announced. The redhead skeptically glanced at the crystal orb and imparted random predictions that were palpably fake, and just as she was excused, Thranduil observed with awe-struck eyes as the eccentric professor's eyes rolled around, unfocused and her mouth sagged, emanating words in a loud, choked, harsh voice.

" _It will happen tonight. …The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight … the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever before. Tonight … before midnight … the servant … will set out … to rejoin … his Master. …"_

Thranduil sucked in a deep inhalation of breath, his crystal orbs focused in a horrified trance at the Seer who had finally snapped out of her trance and was giving the frozen redhead a bewildered glance, apparently incognizant of her spoken prediction. Oh yes, for the Elven-King knew without a doubt that the eccentric woman uttered an actual prophecy, due to his amicable friendship with Lady Galadriel throughout a myriad of millennia, Thranduil was conversant with true predictions. It was inevitable; the Dark Istari will return with the aid of a servant who had been chained for twelve years … _Black_? Yet for some inexplicable reason, the escaped convict being the aforementioned servant didn't add up.

Deciding to ponder over the ominous prophecy with Mithrandir, Elrond and Galadriel, Thranduil quietly trailed behind the trio on their way to the giant's hut; he was however, snapped out of his morbid thoughts when the grating, drawling nuance of the uncouth boy echoed around them as he arrogantly insulted the giant and the majestic beast that was to be executed by sunrise. Crystal blue orbs widened in prideful glee when Lavender punched the uncouth boy in the face, the crunching of bones resounding in the air; the uncouth boy deserved it after all, and Thranduil was astonished that the insufferable boy lasted long enough before an Istari finally tired of his ghastly attitude.

Thranduil focused on the poor, majestic creature shacked outside, sympathetic to its plight; such a prideful creature should not be chained down and executed, but to fly freely in the air, and if such an event were to take place in Arda, King Thranduil would have doled out a _fair_ punishment, but never choose execution, especially since the blame lay with the insufferable uncouth boy. Astonishingly, the filthy pest belonging to the Weasley boy hadn't been devoured by the bookworm's unattractive feline; before the giant insisted they leave, he handed over the frantic rat to Neville.

The swing of an axe from afar permeated around the air as the three companions neared the aggressive tree and Thranduil noted the tear-stained miens of the two females before a loud animalistic squeal interrupted them from their despondent dispositions, fully diverting their attention to the hysterical pest squirming in Neville's hands. Thranduil's crystal orbs, unlike the trio, were focused on the blasted feline approaching them, and his impeccable hearing recognized the sound of heavy padded feet.

"Go! Come on, Electra. Leave now. _Go_!" Thranduil frantically called out, and in the heat of the moment, the Elven-King absolutely forgot his uselessness and invisibility to them. It was too late; the huge black dog that had been stalking Electra before she disembarked on the perilous Knight Bus, appeared in their midst and pounced on the nervous Istari. Electra and Lavender hysterically called out the boy's name as he disappeared into the hollow of the aggressive tree and an audible snap resonated in the air, depicting broken bones; the massive dog and Neville vanished from sight and Thranduil's nerves returned full-force.

 _Blasted rat!_

The tree roared to life and its branches began to viciously sway, trying to harm the two female Istaris, before suddenly, they froze in midair, a hairsbreadth away from impacting against them, and Thranduil gaped unattractively at the orange feline who had been the cause of its sudden, timely immobile state. The King's heart began pounding loudly against his ribcage as he followed the two Istaris and the bizarre cat into the passageway of the aggressive tree until they finally ceased their footsteps once they located a grimacing Neville clutching onto his broken leg, his mien pallid, and his warm brown orbs widened in utmost fear.

Scrutinizing their surroundings, Thranduil noticed that the room was covered in a thick layer of dust, the furniture dilapidated and the walls littered with violent claw marks; crystal orbs roamed around the room in suspicion as the two female Istaris hovered over Neville in concern and relief, but the boy's ushering for them to leave was ignored and Thranduil's attention returned tenfold when he cried out, "He's the dog… Elle, it's a trap… he's an animagus." _Animagus_ ; Thranduil was acquainted with the magical term due to the cat lady's lesson early on in the year, and his crystal orbs widened at the skeletal man with disheveled and matted long hair; _Sirius Black was the dog. Sirius Black is an animagus. Oh, Eru!_

"Does she have to confront death every blasted year?" Thranduil muttered to himself, running a perfect hand over his face, unable to diminish the ominous sensation of foreboding from echoing through his veins, especially when the convict croaked a simple spell and disarmed the two female Istaris. His sunken stormy grey eyes were fixated on the redhead, his voice hoarse from lack of communication, yet he managed to enunciate his words, "I thought you'd come and help your friend. Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I'm grateful, it will make everything much easier…" The blood rushed into his brain at the fearsome sight, the utterance of James Potter threw all conscience and intellect out the window, and the young Istari pounced on the emaciated convict. Lavender managed to pull her form off the deranged convict, but what befuddled Thranduil the most was when Neville tried standing on his broken foot; an undecipherable emotion flickered in Black's shadowed eyes, "Lie down. You will damage that leg even more."

 _Why in Eru would a murderous, deranged convict worry over the boy's health; especially if he lured them to the decrepit room to kill them?_

Arguing and murderous yelling ensued from the three companions when suddenly, Thranduil's pointed ears picked up the scuffling of new footsteps and the werewolf appeared. The conversation which followed deeply puzzled the astute King; Lupin didn't arrive to aid the trio, instead, he focused his complete attention on the convict, a mixture of hope and malice gleaming in his amber eyes, yet the malice wasn't directed at Black. "Where is he, Sirius?" _He? He who?_ And to the trio and the King's bewilderment, one bony finger pointed immediately at a confused Neville. All the anger drained out of Electra's visage as she too, stared perplexed at the boy.

Thranduil tried to keep up with Lupin's enigmatic mumbling, but he could not decipher the mystified words that tumbled out, only the convict could. "But then… why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless," the werewolf's eyes widened in recognition, as though a difficult puzzle had been solved, "Unless _he_ was the one… unless you switched… without telling me?" When the werewolf embraced the convict in brotherly fashion, unlike the trio who all sported a betrayed mien, Thranduil shuttered his crystal orbs in thought. Ever since he overheard the conversation in the village between the adult Istaris and the giant, the Elven-King sensed that there was more to the story, and that a huge chunk of evidence and common-sense were missing.

Pandemonium erupted from the trio as they began accusing the werewolf of aiding the convict. After a plethora of yells, the emotional Istaris calmed down and allowed the werewolf to explain the mind-boggling situation. Apparently the werewolf had a growing suspicion that the trio would visit the giant before the majestic creature's execution, and so, he examined the Map and to his bewilderment, discovered that a new dot followed the trio out of the hut just before another dot labeled _Sirius_ _Black_ dragged two dots into the Whomping Willow. _Two?_ But it was only Neville.

And then, a discombobulating question echoed in the air as the werewolf politely asked if could examine the rat. "Why would you want to see Scabbers?" Lavender asked in confusion, a thought parroted by Thranduil. The confused King's gaze snapped over to the convict as he croaked out, "That's not a rat. He's a wizard. An Animagus by the name of Peter Pettigrew." Feeling faint over the absurdity of the situation, Thranduil leaned against the wall and gaped unattractively as the five Istaris hashed the convict's words in abrasive tones. After much deliberation, Thranduil's favorite Istari let out a calming breath and rationally agreed to hear the convict and the werewolf out. The convict's sunken orbs never once left the frantically squealing rat while the werewolf narrated his tale; and it was quite a tale.

 _The Map never lies. Yet Pettigrew was dead, killed by Black in an area filled with numerous eye-witnesses, and yet, something didn't add up._

Remus Lupin had three best friends: James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew; due to his lycanthropy, every month he would be smuggled into the decrepit room for his transformation. James and Sirius were two of the smartest Istaris in their year and they easily solved the enigma, recognizing him to be a werewolf, and instead of alienating him, the three Istaris decided to become Animagus in order to keep him company and aid in his monthly transformations since animals were unaffected by a werewolf bite. Astoundingly, much to Thranduil's vehement shock, Padfoot was the convict, Wormtail was the alleged rat, Moony was the werewolf and Prongs was the deceased James; such ingenious Istaris, Thranduil now understood where the redhead received her intellect from, it was hereditary. The matter of the abhorrent professor turned up, and the unearthing of his deep malice was discovered… all because the convict played an evil prank on him during the full moon. Thranduil was appalled, but before any more words could be traded, the abhorrent professor ripped off the Invisibility Cloak and materialized in front of them with his wand out.

The malicious glee on Snape's mien immensely disturbed Thranduil. Too excited at capturing his nemesis and throwing him to those live shrouds, he didn't notice when the trio cast the disarming spell on him, knocking him unconscious with the potent power of the three simultaneous spells. Although worried over the consequences of the trio's actions, Thranduil was relieved at the abhorrent professor's unconscious state, too revolted with the elation shown in escorting a highly feasible innocent man to the dementors.

And finally, the truth came out. Sirius Black hadn't been the Potters' Secret Keeper, but a diversion. Peter Pettigrew was not only the true Secret Keeper, but the Dark Istari's spy for several years; the night after the Potter's death, Sirius Black tracked the rat down and the coward yelled for everyone to hear that Black was the betrayer before he blew up the street, cut off his finger and transformed into a rat, speeding down to the sewer and successfully framing Sirius where he spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he had never commit. Finally, the puzzle pieces fit together; no rat could survive for twelve years, and the aforementioned pet had a toe missing and had been sickly ever since Sirius Black escaped the fortress. The level of devotion displayed by the framed convict astounded Thranduil, touching him vehemently; he escaped Azkaban after seeing an image of the rat in an offered news clipping and terrified over the rat being in the same premises as his goddaughter, he escaped, for the rat was in a position where he could easily capture Electra and offer her to the Dark Istari when the perfect moment arise.

 _Why did terrible things have to happen to such pure souls? Sirius Black didn't deserve the Fate that befell him._

The proof was given when the framed convict and the werewolf forced the rat into its humanoid form, collaborating with their fantastical tale. Thranduil sneered at the sniveling form in distaste and utter revulsion; twelve years as a rat didn't do the cowardly Istari any justice. Thranduil was enraged when the traitor denied their claims, desperately wheezing that Sirius Black was the betrayer, but after being cornered and yelled at incessantly, the sniveling creature cowered pathetically and admitted to all his wrongdoings, stating that he wasn't brave like them. Thranduil despised cowards, he loathed them with utmost passion; the dastardly Istari sold his best friends to the Dark Istari, framed another one to twelve years of perdition and felt no guilt over being the cause for a child's near murder, all to save his filthy skin from death. _Perhaps this filth deserved to get his soul sucked out…_

Electra Amycate Potter truly had a pure heart; instead of allowing the framed convict and the werewolf to kill the traitorous rat, she defended his pitiful life, stating with conviction that James Potter wouldn't want his best friends to become murderers. Thranduil held hope that the poor man's name would be exonerated now that the true traitor was revealed. This world was atrocious; what bureaucrats allowed such injustice by imprisoning an innocent man to a life sentence of perdition? As King of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil would never allow such injustice to occur!

 _Travesty!_

Thranduil fondly observed godfather and goddaughter converse with one another, and his heart leapt with joy when Sirius Black offered the redhead resident with him. Electra would never have to return to her abysmal kin. Unfortunately, a yell of unadulterated agony interrupted the fond scene, and Thranduil stared horror-struck at the werewolf as he began to transform. The rat managed to escape, and Sirius Black was hurt in the fight; Thranduil was horrified at seeing a werewolf for the first time and a chill ran up his spine at seeing the trio in close proximity to the mindless monster. His heart stopped beating for a mere moment when the low whines of Sirius Black's Animagus form permeated the air and the two female Istaris ran to his aid without a second thought.

Shadowing them in consternation, crystal orbs widened in fear, his flawless face paling in horror at the scene; Sirius Black was unconscious, quickly followed by Lavender, leaving Electra by her lonesome to repel hundreds of the living shrouds, all of which were drifting towards them. The young Istari fruitlessly yelled out the patronus charm, to no avail.

"NO!" Thranduil desperately bellowed; he hurled himself between the redhead and the living shroud, but he was merely a ghostly apparition to them and the rotten hand passed through his form, grabbing the emerald-eyed girl's neck. Crystal orbs widened in disgust as the cloak was lowered; dementors had no eyes, only thin, gray, scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty sockets. But there was a mouth, a vile shapeless hole readying itself to kiss _his_ Istari! The abomination was about to suck out _his_ Istari's soul! "NO! NO! ERU! NO, PLEASE NO!" and suddenly, as though the Valar answered his desperately hysterical pleadings, a bright silvery light growing rapidly in size charged towards the swarm of living shrouds.

Thranduil's crystal blue eyes desperately located the young Istari, watching despondently as she collapsed, her hand slowly reaching out and grabbing onto her godfather's bony one and those entrancing emerald eyes shuttered just as the swarm departed. The Elven-King tried searching for his Istari's savior, but at that exact moment, his eyes snapped open and he found himself engulfed in the familiar darkness of his chambers, sweat beading down his forehead, mixed in with a few stray tears that managed to leak out in his sleep.

 **A/N:** **Did you enjoy this chapter? XD!**

 **I am so sorry! I was planning on ending the third book in this chapter, but it ended up being too long, and so I left you all with a cliff-hanger…. Please don't hate me! I promise I'll have the next chapter out by the end of this week or beginning of next week.**

 **Did you like the introduction of Blaise? And to all you smart cookies out there; notice how Thranduil unconsciously repeated HIS Istari? ... Hmmm, I wonder what's up with that. ;)**

 **Also; if you've noticed there were many differences between Electra/Lavender/Neville & Harry/Ron/Hermione. This story is called the ElvenKing & the Pure of Heart: meaning that Electra is so pure, she wouldn't have the same hotheaded emotions as Harry. For example, she calmly listened to Remus and Sirius instead of yelling in a thoughtless rage && she never told Remus that Sirius deserved the Dementor's Kiss. She has a pure heart & soul.**

 **Next chapter will be awesome! That I guarantee. We will finish up book 3, have another meeting with Mithrandir, Elrond and Galadriel &&& start Book 4. **

**R &R.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Chapter 14:**

Thranduil dabbed the few beads of sweat and tears from his ivory complexion with a wet cloth and strode over to his bed; the first rays of sunlight had yet to make an appearance in the vast sky and Thranduil desperately hoped for sleep to claim him once again. His favorite Istari nearly succumbing to the kiss of the living shroud jolted him into consciousness and he knew, oh, Thranduil _knew_ he would be unable to rule his Kingdom until he found out the verdict in the other world. Random thoughts were buzzing in his head, his body felt sluggish and his crystal orbs could no longer remain open and the next thing the bitter King knew, his surroundings vastly altered into the familiar white background of Hogwarts Hospital Ward. Palpable joy consumed him and a loud exhalation of vivid relief escaped his delicately sculpted lips when he noticed the shocking crimson head of hair and Thranduil swiftly shortened the distance between them, a smile etched on his face upon seeing the three Istaris were safely ensconced and tucked in a bed of their own.

Neville was in a soporose state, his wounded leg wrapped up tightly in gauze; Lavender and Electra however, were both frazzled and in a state of distress, ignoring the matron's insistence to remain in bed, and the giant block of chocolate laid out between them as they started shouting resolutely regarding the framed convict's innocence. King Thranduil shook his head in vehement disapproval once the simpleton Minister, the abhorrent hook-nosed Professor and the quite serene Headmaster made their entrance due to the resonating quarrel; such abysmal bureaucracy, the simpleton was certainly a simple-minded individual, and comfortable with living obliviously in denial regarding the redheaded Istari's godfather; but what enraged Thranduil most of all, was the statement of the hook-nosed Professor. Thranduil didn't fail to acknowledge those pitch black orbs blazing with vindictiveness, his sallow skin flushed with excitement at Sirius Black being locked up and receiving the kiss, of living a soulless life. The Elven-King would never allow such a disgrace from the Race of Men, such a vindictive, loathsome _thing_ to be in close proximity to his treasured Legolas.

 _Confounded_? Such immoral, simple-minded, and foolish Istaris. The redhead and the blonde were gratifyingly sane, and no more confounded than the foolish Minister.

Interest stirred when the Headmaster serenely stated, allowing no space for argument, that he would like to speak to Electra and Lavender alone… oh, and what a wonderful turn of events. The old man interrogated the framed convict, and he firmly believed them, unfortunately, he could no nothing to change the bumbling simpleton's mind. As King for many millennia, Thranduil was adroit in politicking, therefore, despite the old man's unfortunate statement, crystal orbs noticed the plot brewing in the old man's wizened head; _"What we need, is more time… Now pay attention, Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick's office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. But remember this, both of you:_ _ **You must not be seen**_ _. You both know the law- you know what is at stake…"_ Naturally, with Thranduil's uncanny intelligence and acumen, he comprehended that the two valorous Istaris were to save not only the framed convict, but the giant's majestic creature that had been unfairly sentenced, and to be decapitated.

Crystal orbs observed in awed attentiveness as the two girls wound the gold chain of the impressive artifact around both their necks for the umpteenth time that year and twisted the hourglass thrice. Thranduil stealthily shadowed them until they made the distance to the giant's hut and once the simpleton, the executioner and the Headmaster were allowed entry, both female Istaris went to work; _clever girls, astoundingly clever girls… they waited until the officials had seen the majestic creature with their own eyes before unbinding him, otherwise the blame would directly be placed on the giant's head._ It was a strenuous effort, but they were impeccable at working together with their unwavering level of trust and camaraderie and they finally succeeded in liberating the majestic creature and swiftly made their way to the animated and violent tree.

It was a tedious wait, and the redhead needed many reminders from her blonde counterpart to not capture the traitorous rat; Thranduil listened as the redhead sorrowfully informed the blonde Istari about the powerful Patronus that saved them from the swarm of living shrouds, and her firm belief that it was her father, the late and courageous James Potter. Thranduil felt his bitter heart thaw and bleed, knowing that despite the fact he did not get a good look at their savior; in no means was it James Potter, for he had personally seen his ill-fated demise over a decade ago at the hands of the Dark Istari.

Thranduil observed with morbid fascination as the scene of the rat's escape and the weary Lupin's gruesome and agonizing transformation replayed itself under the effects of the full moon, before he quickly shadowed the two Istaris and the majestic creature back to the giant's vacant hut, lest they became devoured or infected by the rabid werewolf. The minutes ticked by, and Thranduil nervously paced the vacant hut, worried over the past Istari's near kiss and he had never been more thankful when the present Istaris decided to observe the savior from afar … the Elven-King had been absolutely unprepared for the astounding circumstance that ensued. _Electra Amycate Potter had been the savior all along_ ; she had saved her past self, her best friend, and her godfather! _Would magic ever cease to astound him?_ Crystal blue orbs took in the magnificent patronus, a stag, and unbidden, a smile curved on his pursed lips as the form of her patronus vividly reminded him of his faithful elk.

It was a regretful moment; Thranduil found his heart aching at the mournful farewell godfather and goddaughter were partaking; just as his favorite Istari found family, an adult to _care_ for her with such tender love, an adult that went through torment and imprisonment and many hardships, an adult that would readily die for her, unable to remain by her side due to his convict status, and forced to escape from his moronic pursuers; _blasphemous bureaucrats!_ Thranduil's sorrow morphed into vindictive amusement in the face of the hook-nosed Professor's rage due to Sirius Black's miraculous departure, and before the three valorous Istaris disembarked on the vehicle, Thranduil fondly smiled at the discovery of James Potter's Animagus form; a stag… it was quite fitting, for the ones you love never truly leave you, and the valorous James Potter continued to protect the daughter he lay down his life for, _even in death_.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

That year, Mithrandir, Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel found themselves unable to travel the distance to the Woodland Realm; therefore they had a lot to catch up on. The three powerful figures of Arda listened intently to King Thranduil's reiteration of the magical world and found themselves horror-struck, Lady Galadriel more so since she had the ability to witness the events from Thranduil's memory and upon witnessing the living shroud's true face, her ethereal complexion nearly turned green with revulsion.

Elrond had been focused on the living shrouds in particular, and his flawless mien turned pallid with disbelief and horror. "Pardon me, Thranduil, mellon nin. These … _dementors_ , they SUCK the soul?" The appalling shock was quite understandable, as souls were the most important core in regards to the Race of Elves; the essence of an elf's or an elleth's soul was prominent; why, Lainathiel, Thranduil's wife, and Celebrían, Elrond's wife and Galadriel's daughter, both sailed to the Valinor due to the somber fact that they were never fully-healed in mind and spirit; Queen Lainathiel of the Woodland Realm and Lady Celebrían of Rivendell both suffered from a tormented soul and departed to the Undying Lands, leaving their loved ones behind. So, to discover that there was a magical entity in existence, an _abomination!_ with the ability to consume souls, and that they were actually given permission by official bureaucrats as a punishment worse than death… it was horrifying and nauseating!

"Yes, Elrond. I have seen one living shroud nearly-" Thranduil swallowed harshly, his flawless face looking pained, "Nearly _consume_ Electra's soul; if it weren't for her future self's timely arrival and potent magic coursing through her veins, I shudder to think of her desolate fate."

Lady Galadriel swiftly diverted from the nauseating subject, "Another astonishing feat by these magical Race of Men. An artifact that allows one to travel through time and space, how utterly fascinating! Although yes, the old Headmaster is very wise, I find myself wholeheartedly agreeing with him. One must practice extreme caution when traveling through time, just one mistake… and the result could be astronomically disastrous."

Mithrandir had been oddly quiet since Thranduil's entire reiteration, and he finally allowed his voice to be heard, "Tell me about the creatures the Earth-World calls, a werewolf?"

"Ah, werewolves are given another term, they are known as individuals that suffer from lycanthropy. One bite is all it takes to become infected and become a servant to the full moon." Thranduil suddenly winced as he recalled Lupin's excruciating transformation, and was joined by Galadriel, "The agony of the transformation, well, all I can say is that I don't envy the poor souls. However, animals would not be affected by their bite according to the tale of the Marauders."

Elrond clenched his fists as he recalled the tale of the Marauders, "It is blasphemous, is it not? To imprison such a brave warrior, an _innocent_ soul to twelve years of tormented incarceration surrounded day and night by those loathsome abominations. If that rat resided in Rivendell, he would be shown no mercy by me!" which said a lot about Lord Elrond's personal opinion about Wormtail, for he was renowned around Arda by all Races as a merciful and magnanimous Lord.

"I believe, we should have regular summits for hereon now," Galadriel announced in a mystical tone, a knowing gleam passing through her starlight eyes, "Things are about to take a tumultuous turn from what the Seer's prophecy indicates. Are we in agreement?" Lady Galadriel's announcement was met with three unanimous nods of approval and Mithrandir noted once again, that the Lady of Lothlórien knew _much more_ than she was willing to admit.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

King Thranduil found himself once again, shadowing his favorite Istari in the dwelling of her repugnant kin. However, the bitter King was overwhelmed with gratitude over the godfather's astute interference into her life, for now, the redhead's loathsome kin were utterly terrified of the framed convict and ensured they always remained far away from her. Other than the redhead awakening from what looked to be a violent night terror a month into the summer, everything was going splendidly. Once the first month of vacation reached its fruition, the blonde Istari's Adar and Hanar arrived to escort her to their residence and thankfully, far away from the vile human being's presence.

According to Lavender, the Quidditch World Cup between… _Ireland?_ and _…Bulgaria?_ – Apparently they were two countries in this curious land – would be taking place in _England_ … Thranduil wondered how many countries existed in this world… and her Adar, Lenord Brown, was invited as a guest of the Irish Minister who he had worked alongside years back and had a friendship bond with. The clumsy Istari, Neville had been given permission to attend with the female Istaris, and Thranduil found himself shadowing the three Istaris and the blonde's Adar and Hanar to the arena via a portkey. The Hanar's wife, Dalia had given birth a year ago to a beautiful Iell, christened Larissa and so, she remained behind with the Naneth, Lilac Brown to care for the year-old babe.

Thranduil felt slightly overwhelmed as he shadowed the three valorous Istaris around the campsite; once again, the Elven-King was astounded over the numerous amount of Istari's in existence in the Earth-Realm in comparison to the measly five of Arda. Crystal orbs widened in awe at the many phenomenal displays of magic and the variety of different languages his intensified hearing managed to capture. Thranduil identified the congregated group with flaming red hair to be the Weasleys, and he gaped once again at the magnificent feat of one having the ability to give birth to _seven_ children! The Delphic Slytherin, Blaise accompanied them for a while, and the bitter King did not fail in noticing the many searching glances the redhead and the Delphic Istari inconspicuously traded… he could practically smell the aroma of romance in the air, and he knew it wouldn't take much longer for them to enter a courting relationship.

The Quidditch contest between the two peculiarly named countries was simply marvelous, the ones at Hogwarts could not compare to the outstanding speed and dexterity of the fourteen prodigious players, and Thranduil noticed that they were elegant in the air. Unfortunately, Thranduil learned over the fourteen years of shadowing the redheaded Istari that all good things come to an inevitable end; just as the Elven-King observed the three Istari's surrender their conscious states into a restful slumber, and just as he hypothesized his awakening in his bed chambers, a series of loud explosive sounds resonated around the campsite, followed by ear-shattering screams of fright, and the distinctive noise of scuffles.

The blonde's Adar and Hanar panicked and demanded the three Istari's to run and remain hidden until their return; Thranduil worriedly shadowed them until they suddenly ceased their frantic footsteps, emeralds, sapphires and hazels staring widely, horror-struck at the scene in front of them. Thranduil's crystal blues imitated them, and he nearly staggered backwards in revulsion; green light illuminated the scene, and a crowd of Istaris donned in familiar hooded black cloak as the Dark Istari did fourteen years ago, slowly marched forward, tightly packed, their wands pointing upward, and Thranduil allowed his crystal orbs to follow the direction of the numerous wands prompting them to harden with malice… four humanoid figures were being levitated into the air, contorted into grotesque shapes and operated as though by invisible strings, and bile threatened to spill out at the two tiny figures. CHILDREN! These abominable Istaris were torturing _children_ , a precious commodity to all Races, whether they be of Elf, Man or Dwarf! The three Istaris were unable to stomach the gruesome sight – not that he blamed them – and fled into the depths of the woods, shadowed by Thranduil until they literally collided with the uncouth boy who was perched on a low branch; crystal orbs narrowed in on the uncouth boy upon identifying the smug aura and malevolent smile on his pointed, pale face.

Lavender had always been a spitfire with a temper and immediately accused the uncouth boy of his Adar being one of the aggressors, and Thranduil fumed over the fact that he didn't disagree with her inculpation, but merely widen his spiteful grin until it nearly split his face in half. King Thranduil had always been astounded by the redhead's pure heart and magnanimous compassion, and he watched in awe as her emeralds gazed into the uncouth boy's silver orbs and in a profound tone, lacking any venom, said, "You know Malfoy, whether your father is a part of that group torturing muggles or not, it isn't right. They are _innocents_ , for Merlin's sake; there are two children below the age of FIVE! Take my advice and find another idol worthy of praise, because the incident taking place in the campsite is an act of contempt, and Merlin help them when they one day move on to the next great adventure and have their souls judged by whatever God or Deity is up there." The uncouth boy had been rendered speechless, but the redhead didn't wait for a rebuttal, she grabbed her friends' wrists and dragged them forward.

 _Electra Amycate Potter had a pure soul, one worthy of the Valar._

Events took an abrupt turn when the trio settled down in an empty field; the redhead suspiciously lost her wand and suddenly a hoarse voice yelled out an incantation from nearby, followed by a vast, green and glittering light that erupted skyward. Thranduil gazed in confusion at the colossal skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue, and the King shivered, an ominous feeling vibrating through him as he was reminded of the Dark Lord Sauron. Pandemonium ensued as Ministry officials appeared out of thin air; another house-elf by the name of _Winky_ was framed for casting the morbid spell with the redhead's wand and Thranduil finally discovered the terror of the gruesome illumination.

 _The Dark Mark and Death Eaters._ … How contemptible! The group of black-clad Istaris was bequeathed with the repugnant moniker, Death Eaters, notorious followers of the Dark Istari that managed to escape incarceration. The Dark Mark however, had a repulsive and nauseating origin; during the First War, the Dark Mark would be conjured into the air over a dwelling of death, inspiring terror as the Istaris knew they would enter an abode and discover the corpses of their loved ones. At least, when the Dark Lord Sauron had a corporeal form and terrorized Arda, the Race of Men, Elves, and Dwarves had a means of defending themselves with weapons… these Istaris are unable to defend themselves from the Killing Curse King Thranduil personally observed being cast consecutively three times in the Potters' abode.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Witnessing the contagious smile on the redhead's visage as she entered the majestic castle with her comrades was endearing, but Thranduil couldn't shake off the foreboding sensation crackling around him. The past three years of his favorite Istari's schooling was in no means inspiring, as incessant tragedy and perilous adventures concurred, and the bitter King was not looking forward to the dangerous happenstance of this year of schooling at the castle. After the Start-of-Term banquet reached its fruition, Thranduil focused intently on the wizened Headmaster as he beamed at the sea of faces and announced a riveting speech. Just as the wizened Headmaster contritely confessed the cancellation of Quidditch that year, the cacophony of disapproval were halted by the deafening rumble of thunder and the ornate doors of the Great Hall banging open with an echoing _thud_.

Crystal orbs widened at the latecomer, unable to process an articulate thought as he stared squarely at the man who stood by the doorway, leaning upon a long staff that differed from Mithrandir's, and shrouded in a black traveling cloak leaking with water from the tumultuous weather. The hood of the cloak was lowered and Thranduil recoiled at the sight of the weather-beaten man who was obviously a warrior and not birthed with such deformities; the latecomer had a long mane of grizzled dark gray hair and with every step he took, a loud _clunk_ echoed around the Hall before he limped toward the wizened Headmaster. With Thranduil's amplified vision, he easily observed the contouring of the latecomer's face, and it looked as though it had been ineptly carved out of weathered wood; every inch of his face wad scarred, his mouth resembled a diagonal slash and there was a large chunk missing from his nose. But the latecomer's eyes made a frightening impact on the Elven-King; one was small, dark and beady, while the other was large as a rounded block of gold coin, vivid electric blue that swiveled in dizzying circles without blinking, up and down and even to the back of his head, showing nothing but whiteness. Thranduil grimaced, the Istari was obviously a deft and courageous warrior, for not only was every sliver of visible skin littered with scars, but he had a missing eye _and_ a missing leg replaced by a wooden stump.

Thranduil overheard the sharp intake of breath from Neville, focusing on him as he explained to Electra and Lavender over the identity of the scarred Istari; _Alastor Mad-Eye Moody, one of the best …aurors? who had filled up most of Azkaban cells during the war and even afterwards…_ yes, definitely a valiant warrior, and according to the wizened Headmaster, would be educating the young Istaris Defense. Once the overwhelming shock of the latecomer's arrival settled in, Thranduil gaped at the wizened Headmaster as he lengthily explained the _Triwizard Tournament_ that would be taking place at the castle that year.

 _"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of Wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."_ Thranduil allowed the sudden cacophony of murmuring to process his thoughts about the blasted tournament… what was the old man thinking? Reestablishing a dangerous tournament that had been discontinued due to a large death toll?! Couldn't there be one year, just _one measly year_ where nothing could go awry? Why on Eru would students wish to compete in such a perilous event? Looking at the swarm of excited miens, the King mentally groaned… such fools, such _gullible_ fools willing to gamble with their lives, _and for what?_ … _"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament, none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."_

Fools, money isn't worth forfeiting one's life! Thranduil fumed at the abrasive youngest Weasley as he crowed out to his favorite Istari, "You're the Girl-Who-Lived! You're _obviously_ going to compete, aren't you?" Such an imbecile, and obviously, Thranduil wasn't the only individual on the scene sharing the same sentiment as many of the Gryffindors gaped at the sloth. "So, because you all gave me that stupid moniker, I should venture my life away for glory and money? Use your brains, Ronald. Why would I risk my life for things I already have?!" Electra rebutted heatedly, etching a fond smile on the bitter King's visage. However, Thranduil had nothing to worry about; his favorite Istari wouldn't be able to compete anyhow according to the wizened Headmaster as he announced that only those ages seventeen or older would be able to compete and that there were several precautions placed.

Perhaps this year would be uneventful… Thranduil desperately hoped so.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Lessons proceeded as usual; the female Istaris rid themselves of the wearisome Time-Turner as they both dropped Divination and now had a normal schedule; Thranduil was grateful for that, despite the fact that the professor managed to utter an authentic prophecy, her lessons were fraudulent and time-wasting. Nothing of interest occurred until the period before the first class of Defense took place; the uncouth boy tried cursing Electra behind her back after a conflict of disagreement, and before Thranduil could rage and verbalize his ire, the growling nuance of the scarred Istari resonated around the congregated students and where the uncouth boy had been standing was now replaced by a white ferret. The scarred Istari levitated the uncouth Istari turned ferret, bouncing him on the ground and uttering in distaste over his hatred regarding cowards who curse when their opponent's back is turned… Thranduil was in full agreement as he too, had no patience or sympathy for cowards.

Stemming from that epic event, Thranduil was quite curious to witness the warrior's teaching methods and remained standing idly by in the corner watching as the scarred Istari limped into the room and called the registry before revealing a glass jar with three black spiders scuttling inside it. He began the lecture by quizzing the Istaris over the curses that are most heavily punished by wizarding law, stirring Thranduil's interest and thirst for knowledge, yet he knew the Killing Curse was definitely one of the aforementioned illegal curses. The Weasley boy tentatively uttered _the Imperius Curse_ and Thranduil watched in dread as the scarred Istari cast the curse on one of the spiders. _Total control, to have such unwavering control over an individual's life…_

" _Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it."_ Thranduil swallowed harshly after listening to the scarred Istari's speech, he could clearly see why such a curse was Unforgivable. And the next one was ten times worse; crystal orbs focused intently on Neville as he stammered out _the Cruciatus Curse_ before they widened in inexpressible horror as he morbidly observed the fate that befell the second spider. The spider's legs bent in unnaturally upon its body, it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side in what could only be described as unfathomable agony; suddenly, Electra and Lavender yelled for the scarred Istari to halt his incantation in unison, and crystal orbs realized the reason to be Neville whose hands were clenched tightly until the knuckles turned white, and his kind hazel orbs were widened in horror.

Thranduil was immensely curious over the vast reaction of the Istari, and it wasn't until the lesson was completed, after discovering the Killing Curse was the third Unforgivable, did the bitter King discover Neville's disturbance. In the privacy of the Gryffindor Common Room, nearby the roaring embers, Neville sullenly informed the two female Istaris of his parents' fate… a fate, Thranduil grimly admitted, worse than death; they were tortured into insanity under the unremitting administrations of the Cruciatus Curse and were ensconced in a private ward in the wizarding Hospital for thirteen years now… the redhead and the blonde were equally horrified, but they didn't utter any sympathies or miens of pity, knowing that the valorous boy was in need of support and comprehension. Thranduil proudly observed the trio, in awe over the solid bond of friendship between them, and the impressive level of trust.

After that momentous day, nothing of importance ensued; the trio attended their lessons, were incessantly bullied by the abhorrent hook-nosed Professor who turned meaner with the escape of the framed convict, constantly annoyed by the uncouth boy, and tutored each other in the magnificent library where they were sometimes joined by the Delphic Slytherin who took great pleasure in the apoplectic rage that shone on the uncouth boy's face whenever he was in close proximity to the Gryffindor trio. Truth be told, Thranduil vindictively enjoyed the fury of the uncouth boy, who apparently hadn't took Electra's compassionate words to heart after the Quidditch game. The redhead continued to send missives to her beloved godfather, happy to have an adult who cared about her outside of the castle walls, and for that, the bitter King was grateful.

The bushy-haired bookworm started nagging the denizens of the castle over house-elf rights, and although Thranduil understood her appalled feelings over a few Istaris brutal and unfair treatment, he comprehended from Neville that liberated house-elves were at risk of losing their magic and dying without ownership and a bond with a magical Istari or Family; unfortunately, the bushy-haired bookworm was an obstinate individual and continued her heated crusade, much to the annoyance of the denizens.

Before the delegations of the other two magical institutes were to arrive at Hogwarts, Thranduil found himself, once again, standing idly by in the corner of the defense class, watching in horror as the scarred Professor beckoned the students forward and put them under the Imperius Curse. On one hand, the warrior King understood the marred Professor's reasoning and prior precaution for the young Istaris to battle the strenuous effects of the Unforgivable Curse, but on the other hand, Thranduil was revolted by the machinations of such a horrid curse. None were able to withstand the curse, none but Electra. Overwhelming pride consumed the Elven-King as he observed in enthrallment, Electra Amycate Potter successfully overpower the curse and beat it.

Thranduil was relieved that his favorite Istari wouldn't fall prey to the horrors of that curse, and never have her life threatened to be controlled by sinister individuals.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

King Thranduil patiently stood by the three Istaris as they were ordered to file in a straight line with the rest of the school, awaiting the arrival of the two delegations. The Elven-King was curious to observe how the other institutes differed from Hogwarts, and their unique method of transportation. He smiled fondly at the three Istaris as they chattered inanely with the Weasley twins who were the magical incarnation of Elrohir and Elladan while keeping an eye out on their surroundings. Delicately sculpted eyebrows arched in interest upon witnessing a pair of distinctive indigo orbs blazing with envy; the Delphic Slytherin focused squarely on the redheaded Istari as she boisterously laughed with the twins, his fists clenching and unclenching as he never once detached his orbs from the five Gryffindors.

 _Ah, young love… the Delphic Slytherin should approach the redhead for a courting rite; the poor boy's own insecurity is holding him back from love…_

Thranduil knew not how long he had been concentrating on the Delphic Slytherin until he heard a young Istari from the front direct the congregated mass's attention skyward; crystal blue orbs widened in awe at what looked like a giant, flying house until it landed, and he corrected his guesswork; it was an impressive and elegant sight to behold, truly; the gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage soared toward them and landed gently on the ground. There were a dozen winged horses harnessed to the enormous carriage, all palominos, and Thranduil estimated their size to be precisely that of an Oliphant. Poor Neville nearly fell backward at the almighty crash as the carriage situated itself on solid ground, and if it weren't for the redhead and blonde female Istaris, he would have toppled over and collided painfully with the ground.

With his amplified sight, Thranduil managed to make out an emblem on the carriage of two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars, before it swiftly opened and a ginormous lady emerged from the interior of the carriage. The giantess was bigger than the friendly giant and when the wizened Headmaster approached her and courteously kissed the back of her hand, his conical hat merely paused below her chin. Not long after the giantess and her students from Beauxbatons settled inside under the warmth of the Great Hall, there was a disturbance in the center of the Black Lake, great bubbles began taking formation on the surface and suddenly, a whirlpool appeared, followed by a black mast. Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight, and an Istari emerged alongside his students.

The Istari, according to the wizened Headmaster's welcome, was christened Igor Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang, and Thranduil immediately harbored feelings of dislike toward him; perhaps it was the disturbing smile etched on his face that didn't reach his eyes, or the cold and icy eyes that scrutinized the congregated denizens of Hogwarts, or the slimy quality in his tone… Thranduil was bludgeoned with the peculiar sensation that the icy Istari was double-faced and not genuine in the least bit; he was obviously a calculated man with a dark past.

Thranduil watched with boredom as the congregated Istaris returned to the Great Hall for another banquet, watching with amused distaste as Ronald Weasley began slobbering unattractively at one of the Durmstrang Istaris, Victor Krum, who as it turned out, was the star Seeker of the Bulgarian Quidditch Team that played in the World Cup that summer. That ginger Istari had an unhealthy adulation toward famous figures… oh, Thranduil's shrewd orbs never failed to notice how the beady blue eyes of the ginger would eerily follow Electra's every movement upon close contact and send harsh glares to Neville, his older twin brothers or the Delphic Slytherin. It was obvious that the ginger Istari was a seeker of fame, and wished to snatch his favorite Istari into his scheming clutches. Fortunately, Electra had many comrades and acumen intelligence, and would never fall for the sloth.

Once the feast ended, crystal orbs focused once again on the wizened Headmaster as he explained the impartial judge to the denizens; _the Goblet of Fire?..._ _"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross the line. Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet."_

Thranduil had been lucky enough to see firsthand what the consequences were if an underage Istari where to put forth their name into the Goblet of Fire the following day. Hardened crystal blue eyes shone with mirth at the humorous incidence as he stood behind the three Istaris, all of whom were watching with abated breaths as the Weasley twins dropped a parchment with their name into the goblet after imbibing a drop of Ageing Potion. They were both violently hurled backwards onto the cold, stone floor and were both identically sporting a magnificent white beard in perfect replica of the wizened Headmaster. The Elven-King shadowed the three heartily chuckling Istaris as they ambled down the path to the giant's hut for lunch, and he watched in amusement as the giant _tried_ taming his wild hair and beard and donned on a revolting orange-brown garment.

It was clear to King Thranduil that the giant was smitten with the giantess.

Nighttime arrived, and they were all congregated in the Great Hall for yet, another elaborate feast before the naming of the champions. Thranduil found himself completely indifferent over the ridiculous tournament and the suicidal Istaris who were completely blasé over the death toll; he was merely interested in the safety of the three Istaris he was growing absolutely fond of, and praying to Eru that they would have a tedious, uneventful year in the castle.

The moment the Istaris had all been impatiently waiting for had finally approached; the wizened Headmaster extinguished every source of light from the magnificent Great Hall and waited for the Goblet of Fire to regurgitate the name of the three selected and moronically suicidal Champions. Unsurprisingly, the Durmstrang Champion ended up being Viktor Krum, the famous Quidditch player who received a tumultuous applaud, none louder than the ginger Istari who gazed at the famous Istari with a pair of disturbingly sycophantic eyes. The Beauxbatons Champion was a gorgeous girl named Fleur Delacour, who had sparkling azure eyes and long flowing blonde hair; Thranduil noted with disgust that many of the male Istaris focused intensely on her figure with half-lidded eyes and drool actually appeared from their mouth. King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm shook his head in distaste, the features and the beauty of the gorgeous Istari was _nothing_ in comparison to the flawless beauty of elleth's, and yet, the Race of Men drooled over this Istari as though she were the goddess of beauty, prompting a derisive scoff from the bitter King.

Lastly, the Hogwarts Champion was Cedric Diggory, and Thranduil vividly recalled the honorable Istari from the previous year, who insisted, to no avail, for a rematch after Electra became victim to the swarm of living shrouds in the Quidditch pitch, mid-game. Thranduil hoped the moral, honorable and kind Istari would survive the perilous tournament, for he had all the qualities Thranduil greatly respected. Once the fervent applause ended, the wizened Headmaster jovially made an announcement before he strangely ceased mid diatribe, perplexing the Elven-King.

The fire in the goblet had turned red again, activating once again to the bitter King's palpable confusion, and everybody else's. Sparks flew out of it and a long flame shot suddenly into the air, baffling the Istaris in the Great Hall, and borne upon it was oddly enough, another piece of parchment. The wizened Headmaster automatically reached out for it, and cold dread consumed King Thranduil as his amplified sight recognized the soft blue eyes dim and widen in shock. And then, the wizened Headmaster cleared his throat and uttered two words that had King Thranduil freeze in utmost fear…

 _"Electra Potter."_

 **A/N:** **Cliff-hanger! I am so sorry! Please don't kill me! XD**

 **I hope, despite the cliff-hanger, that you all enjoyed this chapter?! XD**

 **(1)Sindarin:- Adar: Father; Hanar: Brother; Naneth: Mother; Iell: Daughter. (2) The Brown Family: Lavender's father is called Lenord, her mother Lilac, and her older brother, Liam. Liam Brown married Dalia and at the end of the Chamber of Secrets gave birth to a daughter named Larissa. Just a recap to anyone confused. (3) Some of you may be confused over Electra's confrontation with Draco when they were hiding from the Death Eaters… again, the title of this story is the Elvenking & the PURE OF HEART; meaning that Electra's compassion has no bounds, and she is completely, and utterly PURE. She finds it hard to hate and show cruelty to people, despite the many hardships she went through and will go through. Instead of sneering and insulting Draco, she advises him to change into a better person. In fact, Electra cannot hate with the few exceptions of course, such as Voldemort and Pettigrew and later on, Bellatrix. Hate however, isn't the main emotion, she mostly pities them. Electra is just too pure, if you get my gist. LOL. (4) Neville this time attended the World Cup, because he actually has true friends and isn't lonely, and since he changed his wand in second year, he gets good grades and such, so his grandmother is more lenient on him.**

 **Next chapter will have many major events, the First Task, the Yule Ball and the Second Task. I know you are all excited to see Thranduil vs. the Hungarian Horntail. AHH! XD**

 **R &R.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N:** **First of all, I'd like to apologize for the delay in posting up this chapter. I feel so ashamed, really. To be honest, I was overcome with MAJOR writer's block. I know some of you might think that it's just a summary of canon (although I am deviating slightly from the plot) so** _ **how can you get stuck?**_ **but really it's much more than that. Other than the fact that Electra is VERY different from Harry, I have to channel my inner Thranduil (if that makes sense, LOL), and I lost my muse. BUT, I am back, and I PROMISE that I'll start updating regularly again.**

 **Second of all, no matter how long it takes for the next chapters to be posted, I am NEVER, I repeat** **NEVER EVER EVER** **, going to abandon this story (or my other stories). So get that ridiculous notion out of your minds LOL, I do not abandon my stories as they are all my babies! XD**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter! XD**

 **Chapter 15:**

Insensate jabbering permeated the air, following the wizened Headmaster's flummoxed announcement. Two simple words managed to submerge the denizens congregated in the lavish Great Hall that had previously been bursting with boisterous applaud and cacophonies of enthusiasm, with an eerie hush. A myriad of unsettling emotions crossed the denizens' features, and after a brief moment of pause, emulating a swarm of angry bees, enraged buzzing filled the Hall, and a certain few actually stood up to obtain an unobstructed view of the floored redhead. King Thranduil however, stood paralyzed in his regular position behind his three favorites Istaris, and Electra Potter herself sat between her comrades in an immobile, gobsmacked stance, unable to comprehend the fact that her name _actually_ regurgitated from the blasted magical artifact.

" _Electra Potter_!" In a rare turn of events, the powerful Elven-King jumped in shock, too consumed by his paralyzed fear, he had forgotten his surroundings, and the urgent call of the wizened Headmaster succeeded in awakening both, Thranduil and Electra, from their unresponsive trance. " _Electra! Up here, if you please!_ " It took the combined efforts of Lavender and Neville to get the redhead onto her feet, and the subsequent instances had the bitter King swelling with unmitigated rage.

How blissfully naïve King Thranduil had been for actually believing that his favorite Istari's fourth year of education in the blasted castle would be tediously uneventful. In hindsight, with the past three years of perilous predicaments and a Dark Istari hell-bent on revenge for some unknown reason, the bitter King should have known better than to have confidence in some sort of reprieve for the courageous redhead. But if Thranduil relied on the assumption that the wizened Headmaster and the many professors had the ability to shield Electra from the dangers of the tournament, then he was _wholly_ mistaken.

To make matters worse, the Beauxbatons Champion was downright insulting and revoltingly self-righteous; who was she to call _his_ Istari a 'little girl'? Young, yes… but _litte_?! _Sacrilege!_ Electra Amycate Potter, in her fourteen years of life, experienced loss, sufferings, triumph, and portrayed utmost valor in the face of death that even the most experienced warriors would cower in fear. She had the bearings of a legend, a victor, and mostly, a leader, and if any other Istari had the opportunity to face even an inkling of the hardships and the series of unfortunate events the redheaded Istari had encountered, they would all crumble and plummet into the steels grips of Mandos.

The honorable champion remained politely puzzled, and the Durmstrang Istari stood stoically in the shadows with a perpetual scowl marring his features as the adults congregated around Electra who had yet to utter a word since the announcement of her name in the Great Hall. Thranduil's patience was nearing its crescendo; he was surrounded by a bunch of simple-minded fools! Conjectures and speculations could be heard from the wizened Headmaster and the cat lady; exuberant interjections erupted from a blonde, rosy-faced Istari who had a profession in the ministry; culpabilities were being snarled left and right from Igor Karkaroff who plainly unnerved the bitter King; bilingual indignations were being spouted off by the giantess and her champion; the hook-nosed professor sprang forth with acidic ranters which in all honesty, was unsurprising, what with his penchant for haranguing the redhead. Electra repeatedly exclaimed her innocence which was met with open skepticism from the visiting institutions and the abrasive hook-nosed Istari, and it wasn't until the weather-beaten Istari stumped in, growling common sense, did relief consume Thranduil.

 _Finally! Somebody of intelligence blessed with the ability to deduce anomalies instead of spouting off censure at random!_

Thranduil's relief was sorely short-lived once the weather-beaten Istari divulged his hypothesis; the Elven-King participated in numerous battles and up till this very moment, he remained victorious. Thranduil had a strategic and disciplined mind, inherited and personally inculcated by his late Adar, Oropher before he was slain in the Battle of Dagorlad in the Second Age, and for that reason, Thranduil _knew_ that the weather-beaten Istari's suppositions had merit; unfortunately, it did nothing to appease the bitter King.

" _Maybe someone's hoping Potter_ _ **is**_ _going to die for it._ "

That was one method of silencing the acrimonious simpleton known as Fleur Delacour, and it was also a method to gain fruitful results in awakening the senses of the arguing adult Istaris. Thranduil could not ignore the truth of that accursed statement. Moody's assumption was dead on. Somebody is plotting against _his_ Istari. The perpetrator tricked the powerfully binding artifact into accepting Electra's name in the hopes of her downfall, knowing the only way of escaping such a deviant predicament was losing her magic – _her legacy_. Quite ingenious – he begrudgingly admitted – what better method of achieving immoral goals and getting away with murder while keeping one's identity anonymous, but by entering the chosen victim into a dangerous tournament, infamous for its high death toll? The perpetrator was no simpleton… no, the perpetrator was a heinous and iniquitous mastermind!

Aghast exclamations ensued, most vocally from Ludo Bagman. Thranduil cared not for the ludicrous tales that spewed forth Karkaroff's lips regarding the weather-beaten Istari's unlimited paranoia, for the truth was glaringly obvious, and the wizened Headmaster agreed with the morose assessment that Electra Amycate Potter's death was the motive of the entire affair and Thranduil – for the umpteenth time in the past fourteen years – felt incompetent and utterly useless, for he could not interfere, nor could he lend aid… all he could do was observe in despair, and pray to Eru that his favorite Istari would once again, beat all odds stockpiling against her and emerge as the victor.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

The aftermath of Electra Potter participating in the tournament as the fourth champion was devastating and was met with naught but uproar. The castle's populace were divided and enmities skyrocketed at an alarming pace, but the common denominator was that Thranduil's favorite Istari was being – once again – treated as a criminal and a pariah, eschewed by her peers and facing ridicules that were borderline abusive.

The House of the Lions looked to be torn; while they were overjoyed that their house would be represented in the accursed tournament, Electra was envied and branded a cheat and a liar, persecuted by the revolting sloth, Ronald Weasley whose jealousy overrode all common sense. It was, for all intents and purposes, a witch hunt! Metaphorically speaking, that asinine _sloth_ grabbed a pitchfork, spoke deplorably against her, amassed supporters, and altogether, banded against the compassionate and pure redhead. Only Neville, Lavender, the Weasley twins, the three Chasers who adopted Electra as their younger sister and a few others, remained staunchly by his favorite Istari's side. The House of Badgers contradicted what they were known as: loyal and just. The House of Eagles were divided between indifference and scandalized, but all the same, treated Electra spitefully. Only the House of Snakes proved to be unchanging, for bullying and belittling the Lions, and most especially Electra and her companions, was to the norm.

Thranduil despondently shadowed the three Istaris he had grown absolutely fond of, affected by their moroseness that clung to him like a second skin. Hardened crystal orbs would turn ablaze upon hearing every crude comment that followed Electra's wake, and with his enhanced senses, the bitter King not only heard every disparaging remark, but he effortlessly observed every pronounced sneer, malicious glare, and the plethora of limbs that would appear in the redhead's line of vision, in an effort to catch her off guard and elicit an inelegant tumble onto the ground.

The most contemptible action in Thranduil's esteemed opinion was those of the professors; trusted with the welfare of children, meant to maintain neutrality and keep peace – they failed… _abysmally_! The adult Istaris purposely blinded and deafened themselves to the outright bullying against his favorite Istari… the cat lady never intervened or punished the disgraceful and deplorable actions of her house against one of their own; the head of badgers who managed to endear herself to the bitter King due to her utmost impartiality that she was renowned for, treated Electra dismally, which only encouraged the members of her house to continue with their incessant harassment; the abrasive hook-nosed professor if possible, intensified his bullying ways and took malevolent glee in her public demise. Only the diminutive professor and the wizened Headmaster remained impartial, but to King Thranduil's ire, they never went out of their way to protect her from her peers.

With each passing day, Thranduil's disposition turned almost feral and his Kingdom suffered the consequences. Even Legolas avoided his Adar for fear of being on the other hand of acidic remarks and short temper. Thranduil was impatient for Mithrandir, Elrond and Galadriel's arrival, for only they would comprehend the reasoning behind his appalling behavior, and share his ire. And then, an incident occurred that equally infuriated and confounded the Elven-King.

Descending to the dungeons, the redheaded Istari and her closest companions, Neville and Lavender, were confronted by the uncouth boy who gleefully informed her of the creation of a batch of slurring badges. Thranduil's pale and flawless features morphed into a shocking magenta shade once the bold letters 'Support CEDRIC DIGGORY The REAL Hogwarts Champion' altered to 'POTTER STINKS'. The Lions stood idly by, unresponsive and uncaring as the Slytherins howled with uproarious laughter, all but the Delphic Slytherin whose face was contorted in fury and had to be physically held back by his two female companions. Neville and Lavender clenched their fists in identical fury, but much to Thranduil's bafflement, Electra smiled. _She actually smiled_. That genuinely baffling reaction prompted all offensive laughter to halt and Thranduil watched in interest as his favorite Istari approached the uncouth boy and… _kindly asked for a badge?_

Nonplussed at the bizarre reaction, the uncouth boy hesitantly presented a badge from the nearly depleting batch and the stupefied silence was broken by Electra's mellifluous voice. "That's ingenious spell work. I mean, the intricate charms to simply modify the words, and the color-changing charms, it's beyond any fourth years. Did you do it?" and upon receiving an affirmative from the shocked uncouth boy, the redhead beamed, returned the badge and without another word, ignored the other Istaris as she entered the classroom.

 _Yes, Electra Amycate Potter was simply and uniquely one of a kind_. She never showed weakness in the face of her enemies, she kept her head held high, and ignored all the bullying and belittling she was incessantly on the receiving end of. She was an inspiration! And despite the fact that Thranduil itched to lock all her tormentors in the dungeons with naught but meager water and stale bread, or perhaps decapitate them with his blade, he was consumed with pride.

That incident spread throughout the castle walls like wildfire, and all hazing upon her person promptly desisted; for how could they bully someone that cannot be affected, and retorted with tender kindness? However, a moment of reprieve would be too kind, for a new player entered the game… _Rita Skeeter_.

Thranduil could assemble no kind words when looking upon her or even, the mere act of hearing her name. That _female_ had a nauseating appearance from her features to her lurid garments and talon-like nails that had the bitter King shudder in revulsion. Most horrifying were those three golden teeth! She had no sense of decorum, was too vulgar for his taste, and lacked proper respect. That odious woman relished in besmirching one's name, and was blatantly corrupt! She whisked Electra off and that damnable ' _Quick-Quotes Quill_ '… well, he couldn't help but inquire over its authenticity, surely such writing tool must be illegal! Once the wizened Headmaster intervened and succeeded in protecting his favorite Istari from further debasement, crystal orbs hardened once the odious woman inquired over his opinion regarding some inconsequential article and he promptly replied with cordiality, though a hard edge could be heard in his tone.

" _Enchantingly nasty… I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat._ " That odious woman didn't even have the audacity to look remotely abashed; such a lack of propriety in the face of a venerable Istari that should be treated with utmost respect.

King Thranduil itched to detach her head from her neck and send her off to the Halls of Mandos once that odious woman's article was released to the public. It held nothing but many paragraphs that shone Electra in a humiliating and debased light; all lies, slanders and offensive statements that had his blood boil with unmitigated anger that wished to be unleashed. And with that nasty article, the bullying resumed tenfold. Wherever his favorite Istari went, the odious woman's lies were being malevolently quoted, and while Electra portrayed nonchalance, Thranduil was present to the moments where, after her dorm mates would succumb to their unconscious states, she would cast a silencing charm around her bed and finally allow herself to be affected by the cruelty of her peers and cry herself to sleep – the palpable misery and the raw pain tugged on his heartstrings and shattered his heart, for only a heartless being would be unaffected by the obvious cry for help.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Unmistakable and unadulterated fear was the main emotion on King Thranduil's flawlessly handsome features. When he materialized by the redhead's side that day, Electra's enthusiasm rubbed off on him due to the fact that her godfather would be appearing to her after midnight. Curiosity subsequently replaced enthusiasm upon hearing the giant's odd request that entailed meeting him by his hut with her trusty Invisibility Cloak. Enthusiasm and curiosity disintegrated to dust once his crystal eyes focused on the petrifying scene unfolding right before him and Thranduil was paralyzed at the sight of his greatest fear come to life.

 _Dragons!_

Not one.

Not two.

No… _Four! Four Drakes!_

 _FOUR!_

These Drakes may differ from the creations of Morgoth residing in Arda, but all the same, those accursed fire-breathing creatures with nearly impenetrable scales and a taste of flesh had him drowning in fear and vulnerability. Thranduil couldn't find it in himself to concentrate on the important conversation that took place between goddaughter and godfather; he barely reacted upon seeing the innocent convict's head emerge from the flames, and he absently listened in on the speculations of Karkaroff being a Death Eater and the reason behind the redhead's forced participation in the tournament.

Time was an inconsequential matter for the Race of Elves, for they were immortal and time essentially had no effect on them. Currently, it was an entirely different matter for King Thranduil, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself nervously counting the days where he would not only be forced to be in close proximity to his greatest fear, but watch his favorite Istari battle one and try and elude her encounter unscathed. Unfortunately, the First Task approached at an alarming speed and Thranduil shadowed the redhead in the confined space of a tent as she nervously paced and tried to steady her heart rate, for her battle against a dragon was due any moment now.

Istaris of this realm were fools! It was absolute sacrilege that they found such a task entertaining! Children should be cherished, nurtured, protected, and _not_ discarded as lambs to the slaughter! Thranduil reached near hyperventilation, for not only would he be facing a Drake, but according to Lavender, the _Hungarian Horntail?_ was the most violent and vicious type out of the four species the champions were meant to battle, and naturally, Electra – the youngest and inexperienced out of the four – had the nasty luck of pulling the vicious Drake out of the offered sack.

Thranduil never felt ashamed over the fact that he had a deep fear of Drakes, for the Elven-King's fear was borne from experience and acts of courage. Fear was a motiving force that although ended with him becoming bitter, it made him stronger and a better leader to his people. If he were to confront a Drake in the future, despite his paralyzing fear, he would persist. In King Thranduil's personal opinion, the most effective form of education was the experiences and challenges faced throughout life, and Thranduil was confident that if he were to battle with a Drake, he would emerge unscathed.

Evil, bulbous yellow eyes; monstrous, scaly black skin; energetically thrashing spiked tail; menacing wings half-furled; long gouge marks imprinted in the hard ground; a positively terrifying roar. Thranduil shouldered on and shadowed his brave and courageous Istari, and his crystal orbs turned glacial upon perceiving the nest of eggs, deeply disturbed that the Istaris of this realm urged the breeding of such abominable creatures. The moment Electra's precious broomstick was summoned to her side Thranduil's heart leapt when she soared upward and goaded the Drake into follow her, giving the redhead ample time to gather the golden egg in her possession.

All cacophony of noise were drowned out once his vision was surrounded by dragon fire; fear for the safety of his favorite Istari consumed him, but also… he cringed in unconscious pain, his left side tingling as he recalled the excruciating and agonizing effects he suffered through… the aftermath of dragon-fire that haunted him to this very day, and that forced him to abandon his dwarrow allies like a coward. Terrified screaming belonging to the crowd abruptly snapped him out of his tormented reverie and he focused on the redhead, just in time to observe the accursed Drake's scaly tail slash her forearm. Pride and awe consumed him, for despite the obvious pain, Electra ignored it and in a huge spurt of speed, descended toward the nest and triumphantly grabbed the golden egg with her uninjured arm.

" _Look at that! Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get her egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Ms. Potter!_ "

Yes. King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm was proud of the pure nerve and outstanding courage Electra Amycate Potter had displayed. Despite the odds, the challenges, and all the danger looming over the horizon, she managed to endure and prove wrong everyone who dared to underestimate her. The bitter King fondly observed from afar as Neville and Lavender embraced her, their faces shining with relief and their fear abated. And just as Thranduil felt himself awakening in his bedchamber, the Delphic Slytherin approached her with an intense look in his eyes, gathered her into his arms and flush against his chest, and planted a deep kiss onto her lips… and Electra eagerly responded.

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

"I shan't repeat myself again, Elrond," Thranduil snarled through gritted teeth, "Chinese Fireball, Hungarian Horntail, Swedish Short-Snout and Welsh Green. Peculiar names, yet utterly terrifying."

Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir traded sympathetic glances but kept quiet while Elrond mulled over the new piece of information, fascinated with the plethora of Drakes existing in the other Realm as opposed to Thranduil's horror. The elleth and the Istari could not imagine what Thranduil went through… forced to stomach the sight of the very creatures that left a deep mark on his soul and a permanent scar on his handsome features as well as a blind eye. Galadriel merely glimpsed into the recess of his mind and shivered in fear, and she hadn't seen them firsthand.

 _Poor Thranduil._

Mithrandir decided the best course of action would be to divert any further utterings of Drakes, "What interests me, is the theories made by the Istari with one eye and leg. What are your opinions regarding the discombobulating matter, Thranduil?"

The Elven-King stroked his lower lip as he pondered over the unverified happenstance, "As much as I loathe to admit, I agree with Moody. The perpetrator was meticulous in his conspiracies. There is no doubt that Electra was entered into the tournament for some sort of nefarious intention, most probably her death, and what better way to eliminate the threat, but by forcing her into a tournament with a huge death toll and no loophole of escaping?"

"The arrangements for the tournament, from what I have discerned, must have taken years to prepare, mellon nîn," Elrond pointed out with a grave expression, "I am certain there is an infiltrator amongst them, most definitely in the castle keeping a close watch on Electra."

Thranduil paled drastically, he never considered there to be a spy in close proximity to his favorite Istari. Galadriel nodded in agreement and fixed the Elven-King with an inquiring expression, "Have you noticed anyone odd or suspicious?"

"Many," Thranduil scoffed, "However, according to the girl's godfather, the Durmstrang Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff – after the Dark Istari's downfall, he was a captured Death Eater. He made a deal in return for his freedom. But his reaction after Electra was made a champion contradicts him being the perpetrator."

Mithrandir sighed, puzzled and unnerved with the conundrum, "I sense darker times shall follow, Thranduil. The Death Eaters that appeared before that Mark was cast in the sky, and now Electra participating in such a dangerous tournament… no, I believe there to be a _much_ bigger picture, one that doesn't bode well."

While Thranduil and Elrond pondered over Mithrandir's ominous words, Lady Galadriel latched on to the image of the enchantingly gorgeous redhead and the handsome boy with mesmerizing indigo eyes as they shared their first moment of intimacy. Unseen to the other three prominent figures of Arda that were congregated around her, the elleth smirked knowingly… yes, things shall prove to be much more interesting, especially when it came to the genuine emotions that were remaining deeply buried and portrayed sentiments of denial.

Lady Galadriel interlocked her fingers together and wiped the smirk from her face; _it won't take long now, events are setting in motion and nearing culmination…_

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Conditions in the castle radically calmed down, especially concerning his favorite Istari; apparently, all it took was a mere glimpse of four murderous Drakes, for most of the populace to concede to the truth behind Electra's exclamations of innocence. Thranduil recalled his distaste with the Weasley sloth, who didn't bother to apologize over his deplorable actions fueled by jealousy and initiated romantic advances. Thranduil however, was unconcerned with the plebian sloth; consequent to the First Task, the Delphic Slytherin and his favorite Istari started courting, which was met with uproar in regards to a few Slytherins and Gryffindors due to their nonsensical bigotry and rivalry.

Fortnights passed without incident, when finally, Thranduil's curiosity waxed after the announcement had been made regarding a Yule Ball taking place in Hogwarts, a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, and according to the cat lady, an opportunity to socialize with the foreign guests. Naturally, he desired to perceive and compare the differences between the Yule Ball and the balls celebrated in his Kingdom every Rhíw.

How interesting… since Electra was considered – despite its infraction – a Triwizard Champion, in accord to its traditions, she was obliged to open the ball alongside the other Champions. Thranduil fondly observed the color flood the redhead's cheek after the Delphic Slytherin asked to be her escort, and he was torn between amusement and apoplectic anger once his favorite Istari asked him for lessons in dancing. The bitter King's anger stemmed from the fact that due to her abusive upbringing, Electra had been prohibited of regular privileges. It was tradition for elves and elleths to be educated in the art of dancing at a young age

They really were an endearing pair; Blaise and Electra. They were still at a fresh and initial stage of their change in relationship from friends to lovers, but Thranduil could clearly perceive a future for them. Despite his bitterness that accumulated with the departing of his meleth Lainathiel to the Valinor, and the traumatism to dragon-fire that left him with a perpetual scar and a blind eye, Thranduil never lost the ability to recognize love, or personally feel it, for the love he felt toward his son knew no bounds, in spite of his detached behavior.

Amusement colored his features as he witnessed the countless Istaris pursuing his favorite Istari in hopes of escorting her to the Yule Ball, regardless of the fact that she had a significant other. The Delphic Slytherin, more than once, had to chase the many suitors away at wand point. The night of the ball arrived and Thranduil was rendered speechless at the divine beauty Electra Amycate Potter truly was in a rich and modest emerald gown with silver and gold embellishments that hugged her figure and accentuated her curves – how far she had developed from the cherubic toddler nestled comfortably on her father's lap, poking colored bubbles; Thranduil smiled sadly in remembrance.

Lavender and Neville preferred to accompany each other as no other had yet to amorously catch their interest; Thranduil shadowed the three companions from the Gryffindor Tower towards the Great Hall where the Delphic Slytherin awaited them, his indigo eyes brightening with lust and adoration. Thranduil scrutinized the completely unrecognizable Great Hall; intriguing lights decorated the entire scenery and upon closer observation, a mystified Thranduil recognized them as no ordinary lights but… _fairy lights?_ Hundreds upon hundreds of _actual_ _living fairies_ sat in the rosebushes, and fluttering over the statues were some sort of … entity he failed to discern. The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished, replaced by about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones that he estimated could seat about a dozen people. In conclusion, it was a magnificent sight to behold, but the Elven-King admitted to being biased, preferring the lavish and overelaborate halls of his Kingdom.

An astounding modification that captured Thranduil's attention was when the wizened Headmaster _spoke to his plate_. Pork chops, he said… and lo and behold, pork chops appeared. Definitely mind-boggling.

For the entirety of the Ball, King Thranduil alternated between shadowing Electra and Blaise, and Lavender and Neville, as they mingled around and danced enthusiastically. At one point, the imbecilic sloth of a Weasley intruded on a fluid dance, bellowing to the redhead about her _fraternizing with a slimy snake_. Simple-minded fool! Thankfully, his twin brothers dragged him away by the ear, their faces reflecting naught but disappointment and embarrassment over their sloth of a brother's public display of utter idiocy. At another point, the honorable champion cordially approached them and parted Electra with a cryptic clue regarding the deciphering of the irritating golden egg that wailed in a deafening manner once opened.

" _Listen… I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know the golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it? ... Take a bath. … Use the prefects' bathroom. Fourth corridor to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password's 'pine fresh'. Just take the egg with you and – er – just mull things over in the hot water. It'll help you think… trust me._ "

In true fashion of a pure soul, Electra humbly proclaimed her gratitude over the lending hand given by the honorable champion. In contradiction, the Delphic Slytherin shared Thranduil's exact sentiment; irritation. The redheaded Istari directly confided in the honorable champion that there would be Drakes involved, therefore, the cryptic hint spoken in an elliptical manner of speech was severely unappreciated.

Thranduil's irate mumbling abruptly desisted upon observing _his_ Istari and the Delphic Slytherin interlocked in a passionately intimate exchange, blindly navigating each other into an empty chamber. For some reason, his throat felt dry and he felt… a _twinge_ … a twinge of some unfamiliar emotion he could not decipher… for it was an emotion he never once experienced throughout his many millenniums of life… Unable to stomach witnessing their act of intimacy that was rapidly leading to, if he wasn't mistaken, intercourse; crystal orbs snapped shut and the Elven-King willed himself to awaken in his bedchamber.

He abruptly shot up from his bed, relieved to be back in his castle and he lifted a hand to rub his chest for he suddenly felt a void. Why was their act of intimacy affecting him so? But most importantly…

 _What was that twinge?_

 ***** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) *****

Whenever Thranduil faced a dilemma, or had to make arduous decisions regarding the regulating and the safety measures of his Kingdom, he would ensconce himself in either the Throne Room or his bedchamber, and contemplate in utmost silence. Clearing his mind, the Elven-King didn't take long to decrypt the honorable champion's allusion. The golden egg _must_ be submerged in water in order for the ear-splitting wailing to be coherently interpreted in colloquial terms.

A few days after the Ball, Thranduil trailed behind his favorite Istari during her evening excursion toward the specific bath chamber mentioned by the honorable champion. Respectful of the redhead's privacy, and him being an elf of his stature, the Elven-King chivalrously looked the other way and concentrated on a peculiar golden-framed painting of a blonde sea creature, due to her being in a state of undress, and only once Electra immersed herself into the magnificent bath, did he finally establish eye contact.

Thranduil felt mildly uncomfortable, almost like an interloper. That bizarre reaction thankfully washed away once his favorite Istari submerged her head into the water and his lips quirked into a diminutive smile, pride consuming him in regards to her intelligence. Due to his enhanced hearing, a chorus of eerie voices singing vibrated in his eardrums prompting his head to incline in intrigue.

" _Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground,_

 _And while you're searching ponder this: we've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

 _An hour long you'll have to look, and to recover what we took,_

 _But past an hour – the prospect's black, too late, it's gone, it won't come back."_

King Thranduil was not lacking in the mental acumen, and he succeeded in deciphering the puzzling riddle with rapid ease; obviously, the Black Lake shall be included in the Second Task, and an entity of importance shall be taken from each of the four champions, and must be retrieved in the allotted hour otherwise it shall be lost in the immensity of the lake. How egregious! How on Arda are these mortals supposed to breathe underwater for an hour? Thranduil honestly wondered which simpleton organized such suicidal tasks for _children_!

His mental tirade was put on pause as he shadowed the invisible Istari toward her destination; due to his nearly four years of being a ghostly spectre, Thranduil could easily navigate his way through the ginormous and intricate castle, therefore he immediately noticed his favorite Istari take a wrong turn to the Gryffindor Tower. Frowning in confusion, the Elven-King fluidly matched her pace and a brief moment later, the adventure took an unfortunate turn. Too absorbed in her pursuit, the redhead sank right through the trick step and while she managed to grab on to her Invisibility Cloak with her sharp reflexes, the same could not be said for the ingenious map and the bothersome egg that cracked open and wailed loudly, no doubt awakening half the denizens.

With abated breathe, Thranduil stoically observed as the cantankerous caretaker and the abrasive, hook-nosed professor partook in a heated squabbling regarding the liable perpetrator; the irksome poltergeist, or Electra Potter, respectively. Until the war-beaten Istari intervened and sent them off and had his favorite Istari reveal herself. The supervening conversation succeeded in capturing Thranduil's unquenchable interest; the stern judge, Bartemius Crouch had apparently caught some sort of ailment that resulted in keeping him bedridden for months, and yet… the Istari's name appeared on the ingenious map, rummaging through the abrasive, hook-nosed professor's private store cupboard.

 _How intriguing, and equally mystifying…_

Thranduil decided to ponder over the anomaly at a later time as the day of the Second Task approached. Neville being a prodigy in Herbology provided valuable aid; according to the clumsy Istari, a magical plant … _Gillyweed?_ such ridiculous names… when imbibed by an Istari, one would grow gills and webbing between fingers and toes – basically, the plant allows an Istari to navigate and process oxygen underwater without difficulty. His favorite Istari managed to order the peculiar plant from the wizarding distract and much to the Elven-King's relief, looked to be prepared for the Second Task.

As each champion flung themselves forward into the water, Thranduil felt the experience of trailing his favorite Istari to be completely out of the ordinary. Breathing seemed to be of no issue to the Elven-King and he easily swam alongside the transformed redhead. Silence pressed upon his ears, small fish flickered past him like streaks of silver, tangled black weeds were clustered… the experience was utterly bizarre. Thranduil preferred his feet to touch the ground or to travel by horseback; swimming was not a predilection to the King.

The grotesque water demon the wolf mentioned the previous year attacked his favorite Istari while he could no nothing but watch in horror. The redhead wrestled with three of them until finally she managed to gain the upper hand and trounced them with a well-aimed spell. Ignoring the residual gore of the filthy creature, Thranduil kept a sharp gaze on their surroundings until finally, the eerie chorus could be heard, and the baffled King set his sight on several merpeople for the first time. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel would be most intrigued by them; they had repugnant grayish skin and long, wild, dark _green_ hair – of _all_ colors; most unnatural! Worse, their eyes were a yellow hue and their teeth were broken. What fascinated Thranduil however, was their silver fish tails. And while the merpeople had inherent distasteful features, orcs were still the most hideously repulsing and vile creatures to ever exist.

A heavy scowl marred the Elven-King's visage as he inspected the champions' 'possessions'. CHILDREN! HOW DARE THEY? Do these mortal Istaris have utterly _no_ respect to children?! Apparently, in this realm, children – _precious children_ – are used as a bartering tool! Children kept hostage for the champions… children that wanted no part in this ludicrously suicidal tournament that lacked a true purpose! And to King Thranduil's ire, a young girl who looked to be the miniature copy of the Beauxbatons Champion and no older than the age of eight was kept hostage and in peril. _Sacrilege!_ If these Istaris ever set foot in Arda, King Thranduil would sentence them to a life of imprisonment for putting the lives of fragile children in jeopardy for a mere tournament! And they consider this entertainment? He inwardly scoffed in aggravation. Such desecration! Sheer acts of folly!

Pride and concern battled for dominance once Thranduil _slightly_ recovered from his rage. His brave, courageous and pure-hearted Istari managed to release the Delphic Slytherin from his bindings, but instead of abandoning the perilous immensity of the Black Lake, she seemed to be unable to leave until the champions rescued their hostage. The honorable champion arrived shortly after she released her lover, followed by the stoic one… but the girl never graced them with her presence and if he weren't mistaken, the allotted hour was dangerously nearing fruition.

Such a pure soul… unlike the elder champions, Electra could not live with herself to depart with the Delphic Slytherin and forsake the young child to the merpeople. Those dratted creatures however, brandished their sharp weapons in a menacing demeanor in an effort to keep the young child in their possession. Thranduil's heart leapt and clenched as his favorite Istari put all her effort in shoving the two captives over water to release them from their enchanted slumber.

 _No_.

NO!

Crystal orbs widened and hardened as he watched his favorite Istari struggle to remain unconscious. Oh, Eru!

The next thing Thranduil knew, his surroundings changed and he found himself positioned behind Neville and Lavender, both of whom were fussing over Electra and the Delphic Slytherin. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the bitter King's fear vanished. His Istari was safe. Only one Task remained and he would finally be able to breathe again.

 **A/N:** **I hope you liked this chapter? XD**

 **(1)Okay… so, there were a lot of events in this chapter. We're nearly done with Book 4. Next chapter, we will finish the Third Task and Book 4 will be complete! YAY! (2) Some of you might be curious about some events I skipped… for example, yes Rita Skeeter published Hagrid's GIANT secret, and blah blah blah... I am trying to summarize the more important highlights of the book so that we could finally arrive in Middle Earth. (3) Electra and Blaise are finally a couple… what do you think about that? Oh, and BTW, Lavender and Neville are NOT, nor will they ever be, a couple, so don't jump to conclusions. LOL. (4) If you've noticed, the scene with the POTTER SUCKS badges changed. Like I said in the last chapter, this story is called The Elvenking & the PURE OF HEART. Electra is too pure and too kind and it takes a lot to awaken the famous Evans temper, LOL. But don't worry, we'll be seeing that terrifying temper of hers as the story progresses. ;) (5) Rhíw – Winter. (6) Fun Question: The twinge Thranduil felt… what do you think it meant? **_**What was that twinge?**_ **;)**

 **R &R.**


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